Dreamer
by Migitmagee
Summary: I really wanted to have a story about Tom and Carl as young wizards, so I made one.  Rated T for language and mature themes. The world belongs to Diane Duane.
1. Chapter 1: Friends

Dreamer

Chapter 1: Friends

Disclaimer: if you recognize it, it belongs to the inimitable Diane Duane. Thank you, Ms. Duane, for letting us muck about in your universe!

"Tom!"

The fourteen-year-old boy jerked in shock as he realized his name was being called. "Yes, Mr. Kolibri?" he said meekly, blushing to the roots of his blonde hair and sinking lower in his seat. There were snickers from his classmates.

His physics teacher frowned. "I said, I don't suppose you know what Einstein contributed to the scientific community?"

Tom Swale immediately brightened. Finally! Here was something he was interested in, something he knew! "Albert Einstein wrote several papers about space and time. He came up with the theory of general relativity; basically, everything moves relative to the space-time continuum, or that space and time are really the same thing. The faster you move through space, the slower you move through time, until you get up to the speed of light; and if you could sit on the beam of light you wouldn't notice that time existed, because for you it wouldn't, and..."

Sometime after going slightly slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, the teacher managed to gather his wits together. "That's enough," he said curtly, cutting off the boy in mid-sentence. A tiny smile played on the corners of his mouth as he saw how animated the usually quiet boy had become, and he made a note to himself to figure out which other topics got the teenager so excited to learn.

Tom looked shocked for a moment, then grinned. A moment later, though, he glanced around at his classmates, who were all staring at him as if he had dropped from some UFO. He seemed to shrink and diminish under their stares; he didn't like being the center of attention, especially because such attention was usually negative now that he was in high school.

Since starting high school one month ago, the boy's life had gotten gradually worse. In middle school the teachers and all of the students had known that he was a dreamer with a sharp mind behind the vacant, dark brown eyes—if they could snap him out of his flights of fancy. He had done well on tests and in his classes and everyone pretty much shook their heads at him and left him alone.

Not so in high school. It hadn't helped at all that he'd moved from Los Angeles to the New York area because of his father's job; now he was just the blond-haired, tan new kid with the funny, too-cultured accent. He had no close friends, just a few casual acquaintances who might sit with him during lunch or wave hello or goodbye. In his classes he hadn't had any tests as yet, so he couldn't get away with daydreaming or writing random stories; his teachers here all expected him to pay attention, not knowing that he'd already learned most of the subject matter on his own.

Even in California he'd been too soft-spoken for his own good. His friends had learned to read his expressions and had respected his thinking time. Here, though, a boy had to be outspoken to survive the wilds of high school, to even have a fighting chance.

The bell rang, and Tom quickly shoved his books into his bag. With a quick, rare unprovoked smile at the teacher the student moved into the hallway with the rest of the throng, relieved that the day was over...

"Hey, gay boy!" Tom was suddenly shoved hard against the locker as his shocked mind sluggishly registered a sting of pain.

...maybe not quite.

The words had come from one of the boys on the football team. This one in particular wasn't all that tall, but he made up for it with his mile-wide vicious streak. Jacob Grogan had made it his mission to torment anyone who didn't fit in with his idea of "normal," which included almost every guy who was smaller than him and wasn't on the football team. Tom Swale fit that description to a T. Having seen how effectively his insult of choice cut into the new kid, and how he didn't deny it, he delighted in using that particular word and others of its ilk to torment his victim.

"Well then, little faggot," Jacob taunted, his meaty fist securely holding Tom against the metal lockers, "looks like someone's a real smart-ass. We've got ourselves a regular gay Einstein, don't we?"

Tom's only reaction was to widen his eyes in renewed fear and shrink back as much as he could. I shouldn't have spoken so much in Physics, oh, I really messed up this time, why couldn't I have kept my mouth shut, please don't let him punch me in the ribs, I already have a bruise there...

"Answer me, gay boy," the bully growled, jabbing Tom in the ribs with his bony knuckles.

He let out a small gasp of pain and was about to answer when another voice cut in. "Leave him alone, Grogan."

Jacob jumped slightly, not having expected that. Nobody had interrupted his playtime before; it only served to anger him. He whirled around, still holding his victim in place, who was putting up as much resistance as a rag doll. "Well, well, well," he sneered. "If it isn't Romeo standing up for the little fag. How appropriate, huh, loverboy?"

The other's blue-gray eyes grew dangerously stormy and narrowed, giving his features a determined, hawklike cast. "I said leave him alone, Grogan, and don't call him that. I swear to you, you pick on him again, and you'll answer to me. You've terrorized him long enough. Let him go."

Jacob Grogan quickly took stock of the situation and sized up his would-be adversary with calculating eyes. He quickly determined that it would not be a wise fight to pick. The other boy was a couple of inches taller than he was, and though not as massive, would be far quicker on his feet. The tall, dark, handsome fifteen-year-old was muscular without being bulky, and right now his fists were clenched at his sides, shaking the slightest bit with thinly-disguised anger.

"Now, Grogan. I won't tell you again."

The bully quickly let go of Tom, who collapsed against the lockers unnoticed. Jacob reverted to his default sneer and departed with as much dignity as he could muster. "I won't forget this, loverboy," he tossed back over his shoulder with a smirk, eliciting an even more menacing glare from the object of his taunt.

The newcomer made sure that Jacob had really left before walking over to Tom, who had sunk into a sitting position, protectively hugging his knees. "You okay, kid?" he asked, lowering himself to the floor so he could look the blonde in the eyes.

Tom nodded, his lips narrowing to a thin line. "Thanks. You didn't have to do that."

The sophomore shifted uncomfortably. "No, I s'pose I didn't have to, but it wouldn'tve been right to let him keep torturing you. Besides, I don't care for Jacob much, he's had it coming for a while now." He smiled a little. "I'm Carl Romeo, hence the disgusting nickname Grogan picked for me."

"Tom," the freshman replied, nodding.

When no more information was forthcoming, Carl frowned. "Why didn't you stand up to him? Why'd you let him push you around like that?"

One blond eyebrow arched. "Not like I was giving him permission; I know he's stronger than I am, and fighting back wouldn't have done any good. It would only have turned me into an even sorer mess than I am now."

"But if you fought back he might not pick on you as much."

"Not true," Tom replied in a dry, tired, jaded voice. "I'll continue to be that thorn in his side. If I don't fight back he might eventually get bored."

Carl nodded reluctantly. He saw the logic there, but didn't like that the boy was so world-weary already. "But why didn't you at least say something, Tom? He was just walking all over you, saying... that about you, couldn't you at least have argued with him?"

Tom gave him a long, strange look. The sophomore held his gaze, quirking his eyebrows. Finally the blonde spoke. "I don't lie."

The words took a couple of seconds to sink in, then Carl rocked back on his heels and looked at the boy with new eyes. "That... wasn't the answer I was expecting," he murmured with a small smile.

Tom studied his new friend's face so he wouldn't miss any of his reactions. "It doesn't bother you?"

Carl looked mildly amused by the question, but merely answered, "No, should it?"

After one more long moment of studying the dark-haired boy's face, Tom suddenly grinned. He looked like a different person; a glint of mischief appeared in his dark eyes. "You never know, I might try to seduce you with my sinful, wily ways," the freshman joked, waggling his eyebrows outrageously.

Carl laughed. "You're alright, kid," he said, rising to his feet and holding out a hand to help his new friend up. Tom gladly took it and stood, wincing when the motion pulled at his ribs. The sophomore noticed. "Hey, you okay?"

Tom brushed off his concern. "Fine. I've had worse."

Carl's eyes narrowed and flicked towards the direction in which Jacob Grogan had left. "I'm going to kill him," he growled.

The freshman was startled and secretly half scared, half pleased of the extent of his new friend's loyalty. "It's okay, man, really it is," he said dismissively. "I'm fine. It's just a bruise, that's all. Promise." He changed the subject in the hopes of diffusing the other boy's anger. "Look, I gotta go to my locker, then I'm headed home. Want to come along? My parents are always bugging me to bring friends over, they don't think I have enough of a social life."

"Sure, why not? I need to get my books too, but I'm a sophomore, so my locker's really close and I'll be ready first; I'll find you when I have my stuff."

Tom flashed him a smile and walked to his locker, trying to comprehend the strange concept. He had a friend in this school. Carl was kind and smart and funny, and he'd be lying to himself if he denied that he was handsome as well.

Not that Tom was bad-looking himself. He really wasn't all that small; his personality just made him easy to pick on, partly because he was rather unusual. He loved to read and write; when other boys his age were practicing football, his nose was buried in a book. He ran somewhat regularly, so he was lean and relatively strong, though his muscles that had been trained for endurance couldn't stand up to the sheer brute strength of football players like Jacob Grogan. Because he had lived in California up until the month before, his skin was tanned and his hair the sun-kissed gold of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun.

As a child he had been cute, all long blonde hair and chubby cheeks. His looks had landed him a very minor role in a very small movie as an extra. Now, however, the baby fat was completely gone, having been replaced by refined planes and prominent cheekbones.

Tom studied his reflection in the window he was passing. He didn't look girly, didn't dress any differently from the other guys. He decided that it had just been his bad luck that Grogan had chosen that particular insult for him, and because he hated to lie, he hadn't denied it. It was only that, he assured himself, that pegged him as "the gay guy."

He finally reached his locker and opened it. The freshman began to put his schoolbooks in his backpack one by one, making sure they fit properly, when he stopped at his physics lab manual. Did he need it? No, not really; he'd finished that week's lab already, it wouldn't do to burden himself with unnecessary weight, especially when he had some healing bruises on his back from earlier that week. He was about to put the thing back when the cover caught his attention.

Tom peered more closely at it. It wasn't his lab manual after all, even though the title was in the same font and it was the exact same size. No, this one said "Wizard's Manual" on the cover.

He wanted to be suspicious. He wanted to say that no, magic couldn't exist, it was all some silly prank thought up by one of his tormentors. Somehow, though, he couldn't muster the willpower to overcome his curiosity. Tom had always secretly hoped in the back of his mind that magic really was real, that magic and science could coexist... and here was possible evidence right in front of him. He couldn't just let it go without at least some further investigation, now could he?

He opened the book slowly and his eyes widened in shock. On some of the pages the font was normal black typeface. On most, however, lay a graceful, wonderful, curling script unlike anything he had ever seen.

If this was a prank, it was far more elaborate than any prank he had heard of taking place in a normal high school.

Tom flipped through the pages with growing delight until he reached one that looked extremely important. His hand trembling on the paper, he silently read the heading: "The Wizard's Oath." Suddenly, his thirst for the magical and arcane became unbearable; he swallowed nervously and read to himself. This was real, he could feel it. Magic was serious business, only safe in responsible hands; he'd read enough science fiction and fantasy to know that it was not to be taken lightly. There was even a warning on the page, a warning that told him of the dangers of the Art. He knew what he craved, but he decided to think through the implications of this wizardry before grabbing the bull by the horns.

On a whim he flipped to the table of contents to see where he could find other wizards in the area, then turned to the numbered page. "Hmm," he muttered, "New York area..."

To his utter astonishment, the text changed in front of his eyes. He grinned in disbelieving exultation when he saw that all of the zip codes and street addresses now looked at least somewhat familiar, then decided to experiment a little more. "Um... can you list by proximity, please?"

Tom's jaw dropped as the words morphed once again. First on the list was Romeo, Carl.

"No way," he whispered to himself. "No, there's absolutely no way." But then something clicked. Carl had only just stood up to the bully for him today. He had fought "to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way" only today. That would mean that he had only recently become a wizard himself.

Completely engrossed in his manual now, the freshman was determined to figure out what on earth the elegant, swirling script was. In his research, he quickly learned that it was the language of Life itself called simply the Speech, and that everything understood it at some level; he also learned some useful phrases. The decision was made before he was fully aware of having decided yet, and he turned back to the Oath with crisp, confident movements. This was right. This was what he was meant to do. Magic was real.

"In Life's name and for Life's sake," he began, "I assert that I will employ the Art which is its gift in Life's service alone, rejecting all other usages." His voice grew stronger and surer. "I will guard growth and ease pain. I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way; and I will change no object or creature unless its growth and life, or that of the system of which it is part, are threatened. To these ends, in the practice of my Art, I will put aside fear for courage, and death for life, when it is right to do so—till Universe's end."

A shiver crept up his skin. He didn't feel any different, but Tom didn't give up hope. There was one way to find out for sure. Fumbling in his excitement, he turned back to the listing of wizards, noting that it had shifted back to purely alphabetical. "By proximity again, please," he requested, then stood staring, wide-eyed, at the page. Above Romeo, Carl was the listing Swale, Tom.

As he let the feelings sink in he couldn't do much but stand motionless, Manual in hand. He was a wizard. Carl was also a wizard. Magic existed. Millions of thoughts flitted through his brain until someone cleared his throat and jolted him out of his reverie. Tom jumped, then realized that it was only Carl, who was looking at him with a bemused expression.

Tom Swale grinned triumphantly and snapped the book shut, baring the cover to his new friend. "Dai stihó, cousin," he said in a voice that could barely contain his glee.

Carl's eyes widened. "Dai... but when... I mean, I already checked the school..."

"Just now!"

Carl smiled widely at the new wizard's excitement. "Welcome, then, cousin! Wow, the Powers really don't leave things to chance, do they...?"

"Powers?" Tom's eyes got a look that meant he was hungry for as much information as he could get.

The sophomore laughed. "C'mon, Tom, I'm going to your house. Pack up your backpack, we can talk on the way there."

No longer careful, Tom stuffed the rest of his books into his knapsack and slammed his locker shut, then swung the bag onto his back. As soon as he had done this he started badgering the older boy with questions. Carl did the best he could at answering them, and before either of them knew it they had arrived at Tom's house.

The freshman opened the door and called, "Hey mom, I have a friend over."

After a couple of seconds his mother greeted the two boys, her smile growing a little wider. Tom had inherited her slightly wavy blond hair and bright grin, but her eyes were a lively blue-green as opposed to his chocolate brown.

Tom hastily introduced them. "Mom, this is Carl; Carl, my mother."

"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Swale," Carl said, nodding and smiling politely.

Tom had seen something in his mom's eyes that meant she wanted to talk to him alone. He cleared his throat. "Um, Carl, why don't you go upstairs? My room's the second on the left, the blue one. I'll be right up."

"You sure?" Carl's brow furrowed.

Tom waved his hand. "Yeah, man, I'll be up in a sec. Just have something to do here; won't take more than a minute."

The sophomore nodded, and with one last polite smile to Tom's mother, he started up the stairs.

"Someone special?" Mrs. Swale asked quietly.

With a sigh, Tom said, "No, mom, just a friend."

"He doesn't know, does he?" Her eyes turned a little sad.

Now it was Tom's turn to smile. "Actually, he does, and he doesn't care. He's a good guy."

"I see," she said thoughtfully, the smile returning. "Alright, go on, I won't keep you." His mother gave him a tight hug and a kiss while he squirmed embarrassedly, then laughed. "Hey. Be thankful I didn't do that in front of him. Run along now."

He practically flew up the stairs to rejoin his friend; he saw that his door was open and walked in, unceremoniously dumping his bookbag on the floor. "Mothers," he muttered, grimacing for effect.

One of Carl's eyebrows rose. "What'd she do?"

"She asked me if you were 'someone special'."

Carl's face took on a mock injured expression. "I'm not special? That's not nice!"

Tom guffawed. "You know that's not what she meant," he said good-naturedly, playfully punching his friend in the shoulder.

The sophomore cracked up. "Yeah, but it had the desired effect," he said between chuckles. "Besides. What other responses are there to that question without the risk of offending anyone? Let's see." He began counting on his fingers. "I could have laughed in your face, but that would have been rude. I could've acted all offended, but that's homophobic and therefore a stupid reaction. Could've made a sex joke, but I don't know what your boundaries are..."

"Enough, enough!" Tom said, laughing. "Okay, I get it and appreciate your efforts, you happy now?"

Carl's smug grin was answer enough. Then he changed the topic, his eyes flicking around the room. "You don't read much, do you?" he said sarcastically.

Tom replied as flippantly as he could, keeping a straight face and indicating the huge bookcase against one wall. "Nope. Hate reading, it bores me to death, I'd much rather watch a movie with guns and blood and guts instead where the characters are about as eloquent as apes."

That got a wry smile and a chuckle from his friend. "You're pretty ridiculous, you know that?"

The boy grinned. "So I've been told," he said airily, getting his manual from his backpack. "I'll always remember a conversation between me and my dad when I was nine."

"Oh?"

"He said to me at the dinner table, 'Son, you have a freak flag, but that doesn't mean you have to fly it constantly!'"

Carl gave a low whistle. "Ouch."

Tom made a face. "No, he was right. I was originally the gay dreamer from California. Now I'm even weirder, I'm the gay dreamer from California who's also a wizard. And speaking of wizards, I'm absolutely dying to know more about this Speech thingy and about the Powers and what spells I can do and—"

"Whoa, whoa, hold up a second!" Carl said, holding up a hand and wincing. "Okay. It's the Speech. Not 'this Speech thingy'; the language of Life itself deserves a little more respect than that, don't you think?"

"Fine, whatever, the point is that I need to learn as much about wizardry as I can!" Tom's face was a mask of frustrated earnestness. "And maybe I'll be able to make Grogan not bully me anymore. C'mon, man, help me out!"

Carl sighed. "Alright, start reading the Manual. It describes things really well. Then we'll work on the Speech, and once you get the concepts I guess we can try relatively simple spells, okay?"

Tom's grin could have rivaled the sun in the instant before he cracked open his Manual and began to read.


	2. Chapter 2: Partners

Chapter Two: Partners

**Disclaimer: the characters you recognize belong to Diane Duane.**

**Thank you to gwendelyn, my first reviewer! Glad you liked it!**

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Apart from the fact that they were wizards, Tom couldn't for the life of him figure out why Carl was so keen on maintaining their friendship.

Not that he was complaining; no, far from it. It was a welcome change from his previous lonely existence. He had someone to bounce ideas off of, and generate ideas in return. Carl also protected him; Grogan hadn't tried to torment Tom with anything more harmful than words, and even when other kids made fun of him, the sophomore was always there to defend his reputation.

It was almost scary how quickly his friend managed to rush to his aid. Sometimes he'd show up just as the bully appeared, barely giving Tom enough time to think a terrified thought. At first it just seemed like coincidence, but after about the fifteenth time the freshman was beginning to get a little spooked.

"How do you _do_ that?" he finally asked after Carl had chased Grogan away once again.

"Do what?" Carl shot back. There was something in his face...he was keeping a secret, Tom could tell.

"You know what I mean, I know you do; you're an awful liar. But since you seem intent on pretending you don't know, I'll put it into words." He took a deep breath. "How do you always get there in the nick of time, no matter where we are in the school? Like just now. Grogan barely got the chance to say 'gay boy' before you just...appeared behind him." Tom got a look at Carl's expression and added hastily, "I'm not mad, man, just curious, that's all."

"Sure you won't be mad?" Carl Romeo seemed hesitant.

Tom couldn't fathom why, but he smiled reassuringly. "Promise. Again, my natural curiosity kicking in."

The sophomore took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well...I've kind of been...getting your thoughts."

"_What?_"

"Easy, man, not many of them! Just...when you're scared, you think really loudly, you know? It's like, I dunno, like a call for help. Or when you're happy, like in your physics class yesterday. I guess you kind of came out of your shell more and I could feel you get enthusiastic about something. It's nothing specific; just overall feelings. But they're getting more refined each time, I think I can hear them better."

"So how come I'm not getting your thoughts?" Now Tom was just puzzled, as well as relieved that he still had _some_ privacy.

Carl looked relieved as well. "My guess is that I haven't really been terrified of anything in the past week since you took the Oath." At Tom's suddenly thoughtful expression, he asked, "What?"

A second went by. "This could be really useful, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I did some reading in the Manual—heck, that's pretty much all I've been reading for the past week—and people have done some really dangerous stuff. If we can communicate over long distances, say get really good at it, we can share information about spells and stuff without having to be physically in the same place."

Comprehension dawned on Carl and he nodded slowly. He grinned. "That _does_ sound intriguing."

Tom nudged him playfully, hard enough so that his friend was knocked off course. "'Intriguing', eh? I must be rubbing off on you."

Carl rolled his eyes. "With the amount of time we're spending together I wouldn't doubt it. Even now we're headed to your house for the fifth time, and we've only known each other for a week. And just to be _fair_, mister, you seem to be rather less shy than before."

"Yeah, I've made an improvement. I even got up the nerve to ask the person next to me in math if I could borrow a pencil. Real progress."

Carl only snorted in amusement, which got Tom chuckling.

"I think we should practice."

"I'm sorry, I don't...quite..."

"The mind-reading thing," Tom said in exasperation. "It sounds like it gets easier with practice, and you said you're hearing my emotions—wow that sounds weird—hearing them better, right?"

"Right..."

"So try to send me something. Think loudly."

"I don't know how!"

Tom heaved a sigh. "You said fear was really loud, as well as intense happiness. Try remembering something you were afraid of." Suddenly he got a vague sense of unease, and smiled. "I think it's working. Try something else—_ow_!" He rubbed his jaw and winced. "What was that?"

Carl smiled wanly. "The first was me being scared of the dark as a little kid. The second was having to get a tooth pulled, and the dentist didn't give me enough laughing gas. Figured if anything would get through, that would."

The blonde nodded thoughtfully and shivered. "Ouch. Okay, we've established that it's a two-way thing, that's a start... What's the Manual say about hearing thoughts and emotions?"

Carl pulled his Manual out of his backpack and opened it, flipping through more pages than a casual observer would have thought possible. "Let's see. Mind-reading, mind-reading...okay, ew, don't want to be doing _that_ kind. Um. Here it is. Thought-sharing...whoa." His eyes widened as he stared at the page.

"What?"

"It says we're supposed to be partners."

Tom's mouth opened into a little "o" of surprise and a slow flush made its way up his face. He went uncharacteristically (well, in that company, anyway) quiet and still, the only sound coming from his direction the soft scuffing of his shoes on the pavement.

Carl must have noticed the silence, or he'd picked up on the boy's discomfiture, because he looked up from his Manual. Seeing his friend's face, he grinned and nudged him playfully. "Not _that_ kind of partners, doofus," he said, catching the freshman by surprise. "_Wizarding_ partners. Sheesh."

Tom stumbled from the shove and laughed embarrassedly. "Sorry, sorry. I've spent longer being gay than I have being a wizard. And in Los Angeles you get used to hearing that term a lot."

"It's really that different?"

"Yeah," the blonde answered wistfully, "like night and day. There people are more free and open. Here everyone's all rigid and uptight, cloistered in their own little worlds." Carl raised his eyebrow, and Tom caught the disbelief associated with the expression. "What?"

"Did I really just hear you use the word 'cloistered' in casual conversation?"

"Of course you did," Tom shot back loftily. "I am articulate and have an extensive everyday vocabulary."

"This emotions thing is getting more fine-tuned," Carl muttered. "You're sad about something?"

Tom fell silent again, this time his face going carefully blank.

Carl figured it out anyway with the help of the thought-sharing. "You had a lot of time alone to develop your vocabulary, didn't you?"

The freshman jerked his head up and down once, not trusting himself to speak. Moisture began to shimmer in his eyes.

"Oh, Tom," the sophomore murmured. His voice was as compassionate and understanding as Tom had ever heard it. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine," the fourteen-year-old said with a huge effort of will, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. "Nothing you wouldn't have eventually figured out for yourself, even without sharing thoughts. Must be nice, though, to have a network of friends."

"Sometimes they're more trouble than they're worth," Carl admitted with a smile. "And no, I'm not just saying that. None of my other friends are actually _close_ friends, more like people who think being friends with athletes will make them cool."

Tom gave a wry half-smile of his own. "And I know for a fact that that's not the case; or maybe it's that anything different about you kind of cancels out your perceived coolness?"

"Oh, c'mon. You're a cool guy. Seeming cool and being cool are two completely different things. But you're right, being my friend has nothing to do with either."

"How profound," the freshman said dryly, glancing over at Carl. "Well, at least you're honest."

"I'm a wizard. Wizards are _supposed_ to be honest; working with the language of truth would be rather dangerous otherwise, wouldn't it?"

"Mm. Guess so. Speaking of which, when are we gonna work on spells and stuff like that?"

Carl raised an eyebrow. "Maybe when we get better with the Speech."

Tom matched the expression flawlessly. "Then shouldn't we be practicing? Talking in the Speech instead of in English?"

The sophomore groaned. "Won't our conversation be a bit halting like that, since we'll have to look up the words in our Manuals?"

Tom made a face. "Fine. Then how about we practice our thought-sharing so we can turn it into a more effective form of communication?"

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well," Carl said carefully, "it seems to be getting more effective, but less voluntary. You didn't seem too happy with the idea of me sharing all of your thoughts when I first told you about it, and that's what I think will happen before we develop the skills to pick and choose what to share and what to keep private."

There was a pause; then comprehension dawned, accompanied by a tinge of resignation. "You're probably right, but it'll happen sooner or later anyway if we're supposed to be—" and he flashed a quick, wry grin, remembering his previous embarrassment— "partners."

Carl shook his head in bemusement.

"What is it?"

"How do you do it?"

"Huh...?"

"So much for eloquence," the sophomore said cheekily.

Tom made a face. "Fine. Please elaborate and accept my humble apologies for not being articulate enough. Better?"

"Much," Carl replied, amused. Then he grew serious once again and took a breath. "How are you so open about it? Nobody I know has ever been so comfortable with talking about being gay. It's not even about honesty; it's like, I dunno...like you embrace it and talk about it like it's normal."

A hint of confused anger crept onto Tom's face. His eyebrows drew together slightly. "It _is_ normal."

"That's not what I meant," Carl reassured him hastily. "I know it's normal to _be_ gay; you're just not in the majority. It's just not normal to _talk_ about it so openly, at least not here."

Tom nodded reluctantly. "I just grew up like that," he said with a shrug. "I'm comfortable with it. I wouldn't call it _pride_, exactly; but I feel no shame over it, and my parents have told me that I shouldn't ever be ashamed of who I am."

"Maybe...well, maybe if you didn't talk about it so openly you wouldn't get bullied as much," Carl suggested cautiously.

"That's probably true, but it's also a surefire way to allow me to feel ashamed of myself."

The sophomore knit his brows together. "I don't get it."

Tom blew out an exasperated breath and stopped walking, forcing his friend to stop as well. "You're straight, right?"

"Right." The word was sure and confident.

"Have you had girlfriends?"

"Yeah."

"Have you talked about them to your friends?"

"Of course...I'm sorry, I don't really see where this is going."

"You will, don't you worry," Tom replied dryly. "What would your guy friends think if you _didn't_ mention your girlfriend at the time?" He focused on Carl's face as if searching for something.

He thought back to when just that had happened with one of his friends. "That I was ashamed of her. But seeming ashamed of one girlfriend isn't the same as being ashamed of yourself."

"Hold on, Carl, I'm not done," Tom said, holding up a hand.

"I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition," Carl muttered to himself.

Tom grinned widely. "Nobody does. But don't change the subject. Imagine that none of your girlfriends talked about you—not that that would happen, you're a nice, handsome guy. What would you think?"

Carl raised an eyebrow and backed up a step. "Are you flirting with me?" he asked, suspicion written all over his face.

The freshman rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not. It's merely a blunt statement of opinion which, coming from another guy, is undermining your preconceived idea of your own masculinity...but we'll get to that later. Just answer the question, please."

Carl took a breath. "I guess I'd think that they were all ashamed of me," he said slowly.

"Exactly. And once you got that thought into your head, you'd start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was a reason for them to be ashamed. You'd start looking inside yourself and examining everything with a fine-toothed comb, wondering what you were doing wrong, because the fault absolutely _had_ to have been yours. Am I right?"

The sophomore could find no fault in his friend's description. "Yes."

Tom got a look of raw pain on his face, though his gaze remained steady and his voice did not waver. Carl could feel the emotion over their link and winced at its strength. "None of my boyfriends ever talked about me to their friends. I tore myself apart trying to figure out what I'd done, what crime I'd committed. Finally I confronted the last one and asked what was wrong. He was confused at first, then told me 'We're gay, we're different. It'll make other people uncomfortable.' He made me feel shame for who I was before I even realized it, Carl. And he didn't even do it on _purpose_. Even in California society was pretty heteronormative—you know, gays deferring to straights, et cetera. But here they'd sooner kill you than accept you for being gay even if you try to fit in." He quirked his mouth into a half-smile of defiance. "Being open is the only way I've found to preserve my sanity."

Carl let out a breath. "I'm sorry."

"What for? You didn't do anything."

"It's a _sympathetic_ 'I'm sorry', dumbass," he retorted in a voice devoid of any malice; then he closed the distance between them and gathered his friend into an awkward hug.

Tom let out a short puff of laughter. He took as much comfort from the embrace as he could, then stepped back. "Thanks."

"Not a problem," Carl replied, giving a smile. He started walking again, and Tom followed suit.

"Well, good thing I _was_ open; otherwise we might not have met."

"Mm," Carl replied. He somehow didn't think arguing about the Powers That Be would be a good idea at the moment, so he stuck with the noncommittal grunt.

Something else occurred to Tom and he turned beet red. "Oh God."

This last exclamation necessitated a verbal response. "What now?"

The freshman put his face to his hands and groaned. "Turn it into a mind-reading exercise, Carl, because you're not going to get me to say it aloud."

They reached Tom's house and walked in the door. Mrs. Swale was in the kitchen already, and she turned around with her trademark bright grin when she heard the doorknob's mechanism click open. "Hello, boys," she greeted them warmly.

"Hi, Mom," Tom answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Swale," Carl said respectfully, nodding.

"It's nice to see that you and Tom have become such good friends, but won't your parents be a bit worried?"

"No, not at all, ma'am," he replied with a reassuring smile. "They both work pretty late anyway. Usually they're just happy to know my homework's done earlier, and the rest of the time when they get suspicious and actually _check_ my homework, they're happy and surprised to see it done well. Tom's really smart. They think he's a good influence on me."

"Well, that's good then," she answered, beaming. Then she frowned and looked at her son. "Tom, are you feeling okay? You're all red, dear." She peered closer at him, then looked at the dark-haired boy. "And you, Carl? You look a bit peaky yourself, kind of tight-faced...everything alright?"

"We're fine, Mom," Tom said with a swiftly-covered look of panic. "Um, Carl and I have a lot of, uh, work tonight, don't we, Carl? So we're just, um, just going to go upstairs and get started, okay? Hi, love you, bye!" He gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before practically fleeing up the stairs, Carl following only slightly more slowly behind him. They left Mrs. Swale looking thoughtfully and suspiciously in the direction they'd gone.

"She suspects something for sure," Tom groaned, shutting the door with a decisive _snick_. "Great. Absolutely wonderful."

Now it was Carl's turn to blush. "Um. Then maybe, uh, we shouldn't be in your _room_ with the _door_ closed? Especially since your mom knows you're into men and can't be sure either way about me? Just a thought, mate. That's one way to arouse suspicion for sure."

"Guess you're right," he sighed, opening the door again just a few inches so that they'd be able to see and hear what was going on in the hall and still be afforded a little privacy.

"And I figured it out." Carl's Cheshire grin was enough to remind Tom of what he meant.

"Oh _God_," Tom said again, relatively loudly, mournfully dropping his face into his hands once more. His hands muffled the words quite a bit, but not so much that they couldn't be made out.

"Uh-huh...it's right there in your memory, plain as day." Carl did a terrible imitation of Tom at his most sarcastic. "'You never know, I might try to seduce you with my sinful, wily ways!'"

"Carl, if you're going to seduce my son, will you _please_ not say so in so many words?" Mrs. Swale's voice came through the door loud and clear. "And you might want to leave the door closed in the future. I _knew_ there was something going on between you two."

"_Mom!_" Tom yelped at the same time Carl collapsed on the bed, cracking up and blushing furiously. "I swear, for the love of...okay. Mom. There's nothing going on between us, otherwise this hooligan wouldn't be laughing his head off at my expense. Come in, I guess. Let's set the record straight." He huffed in exasperation when she didn't enter the room immediately. "Mom, I _said_ you could come in. There's nothing going on, I promise. We're both decent and have never been anything _but_ decent in each other's company."

His mother tentatively came into the room, doubt written all over her face. "Then what was the groan about?"

Carl recovered enough to sit up and help with the explaining. "We were reminiscing about our very first conversation, and he-he-heeheehee! He remembered something embarrassing he'd said to me, but refused to tell me what it was. It was right after I found out he was gay, and he asked me if I minded."

"Which was why I was blushing when I came in," Tom added a trifle sullenly.

"A-a-and I...haha. Sorry." Carl fought to contain his laughter. "I remembered what it was he said when you were talking to us and I was trying not to laugh. Because when he asked if I minded, I asked if I should, and _this_ one came out with a cool 'You never know, I might try to seduce you with my sinful, wily ways!' Hahahahaaahaha..." The sophomore collapsed on the bed again, unable to quell the bubbling mirth.

"Oh _God_," Tom said, exactly as before, cradling his head in his hands. "I still can't believe I said that. What was I thinking?"

"A good question," his mother replied helpfully. "Can't say I know. Although I must confess that I'm a bit disappointed; I was hoping you'd found a nice gay boy to bring home, maybe have a relationship..."

Both Tom and Carl turned purple and made choking noises. Tom finally said in a strained voice, "Well, you got three out of five. He's a nice boy, and I brought him home. But _no_, mom, I don't want or need you to set me up, now _please_ will you leave us alone now that you know we're not fooling around?"

Mrs. Swale nodded and departed, looking a bit pink in the cheeks. "Um...do you...do you want the door closed?"

"Please," the two boys answered in unison, and she nodded and shut it.

"Wait. Mom. Come back for a sec."

"Yes, Tom?" She opened the door again.

Her son looked severely at both Carl and his mother. "This will never, under any circumstances, _ever_ be mentioned outside of the present company."

They both grinned at him, but nodded anyway. Mrs. Swale closed the door again.

After a minute of quiet, Tom stretched and said, "I'm tired of sitting on the floor, it's not comfortable. Move over." He gently shoved Carl to one side of the bed and sat down on it.

The two friends sat in silence for another few minutes, with the exceptions of the occasional titter from Carl or disbelieving whimper from Tom. Then the blonde shook his head. "Okay, this is silly. We came up here to work on learning more of that thought-sharing thing and to work on the Speech, and we'll probably have to actually do homework too. Even though it's Friday...you know, if your folks won't come back until later, d'you want to stay for dinner? Mom won't mind, she likes you."

Carl smiled gratefully. "I'd like that, actually. Thanks. It's never a family occasion unless it's a weekend or holiday, so nobody'll mind."

Tom nodded and moved to the top of the stairs. "Mom?" he shouted down.

"Yes?"

"C'n Carl stay for dinner?"

"Of course," said the drifting voice. "The phone's in the hall if he wants to call his parents."

The boys both grinned. "Thanks, Mom!"

"Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Swale!"

"Okay," said Tom, plopping down on the bed once more, "let's work on the Speech. I think I've got the written bit down pretty well." He rummaged through his stuff and brought out a beat-up red composition notebook, flipping through the pages until he found the ones he wanted. The freshman pointed triumphantly. "Check it out!"

For a moment all Carl could do was stare in silent awe; then he found his voice. "God, Tom, how much time did you have on your hands?"

Tom grinned. "Well, I usually write for a good amount of time per day. It's like a diary, but I write all kinds of things in it. This was yesterday's entry; I started with something simple, detailing my argument with the tiny bit of toothpaste at the bottom of the tube."

"That'd be pretty one-sided," Carl laughed; then he peered at the neat, gracefully curling script. "Wait. Does this say the toothpaste _answered_ you?"

"Uh-huh," he said, looking puzzled. "You mean you haven't talked to anything yet?"

Carl's confused look was self-explanatory.

"Oh come _on_. This is the _Speech_. You _talk_ to things and they _listen_. How'd you _think_ wizards cast spells?" Tom was exasperated and didn't wait for an answer. "Okay, you really need to speak to something. Try talking to something. Anything, it doesn't matter what."

For a second the sophomore looked dubious; then he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out some spare change. He flicked through the coins until he found a beat-up penny from 1929. "Um...how do you...?" Suddenly his eyebrows shot up and a delighted grin spread itself across his face. "It talked to me," he said in wonderment.

"Then say something back, be polite!" For the next few minutes he watched in fascination as a whole range of expressions flitted across Carl's face.

Finally Carl put the coin down. "Wow. Tom, you wouldn't _believe_ the stories that penny had to tell," he said quietly. "It was just so happy to talk to someone else after so long, but it got a little annoyed after a while because I was asking too many questions and had a terrible accent." His voice was amused with a tinge of chagrin.

Tom tried, he really did, but he couldn't hold in the giggle that bubbled out of his mouth. "Sorry. I'm just imagining how interesting the Speech must sound with Brooklyn influences."

Carl glowered playfully. "_Shush, you_," he answered in the Speech.

"_I'd prefer not to, thanks,_" Tom answered in the same language, chuckling harder. The Speech in Brooklyn-speak sounded funnier than he'd expected.

"Psh. You and your flowing Californian accent—"

"Tom, Carl! Dinner, come on down!"

The two declared a truce as they trooped down the stairs to eat.


	3. Chapter 3: Fireworks

Chapter 3: Fireworks

Disclaimer: I don't own the series or the characters.

I apologize, my faithful readers, for taking so long and making this so short. I'm still not completely happy with this particular chapter. . Ah well. Enjoy!

* * *

The phone rang in the hall. Tom, intent on practicing with the Speech on his lazy Saturday afternoon, didn't bother to answer it.

But his father's voice drifted up the stairs and pulled him out of his concentration. "Tom, phone for you. It's Carl."

As soon as the words left his mouth Tom dropped his pen and notebook and ran to the phone. "Got it!" he yelled down the stairs after picking it up, then put it to his ear. "Hi, what is it?"

_"You have _got_ to come see this,"_ Carl said breathlessly in the Speech. He had been practicing, and the words now flowed better.

_"What?"_ Tom asked. _"What is it?"_

"Just come to my house," Carl replied, sounding impatient. "77 Brick Road. A couple blocks away."

"What should I tell my dad? Mom's got him thinking there's something going on between us, too."

"Science experiment," said Carl, and Tom could hear the grin in his voice. "It's actually the truth. Sort of."

"I'll be there soon," Tom sighed and hung up. He walked down the stairs and nearly bumped into his father, who was in the hall. "Hi, Dad, I'm going over to Carl's."

Mr. Swale raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"He told me it was a science experiment," Tom said truthfully.

"Oh, science indeed," his father said with a knowing grin. "What kind? Chemistry, perhaps?" He chuckled at his own witticism.

Tom just rolled his eyes. "Dad. I've _told_ you there's nothing going on between me and Carl. We're just friends."

"Sure, sure," the older Swale said with a wave of his hand, still smiling indulgently. "Go on, have fun."

With another eye roll Tom went past his father and out the door, being careful not to break into a run until he was out of sight of the house. The air was warm, almost in the seventies, which suited him just fine because he hadn't stopped to put on a jacket.

Carl was waiting for him at the edge of the driveway when he arrived just a couple of minutes later. "Hey, what took you?" he asked, clearly impatient.

"I told you, Carl, now both my parents think we're romantically involved, no matter how many times I've told them you're straight. Dad made some corny joke about chemistry."

Carl snorted. "Damn, he has good instincts," he said jokingly. "No, really. It does have to do with literal chemistry. C'mon, don't just stand there; I have to show you!" With that he began to jog behind the house and into a small, but neat, metal shed.

Tom began to talk to himself for his friend's benefit. "'What did you do, son?' 'Not much, dad. You were right, it was about chemistry. Carl took me into the shed behind the house. It was pretty neat.' 'Oh, is that so?'"

"Shut up," the sophomore said good-naturedly and opened the door.

Tom was speechless for precisely one second before he said, to cover his awe, "And now I can truthfully tell him that yes, I did see fireworks."

Because the shed had boxes and boxes with labels of different types of fireworks. Each was neatly stowed against the wall; some of them were store-bought, but many were clearly homemade.

"Yeah, it's my dad's thing. Most of our father–son bonding time is over fireworks. But that's not what I wanted to show you." Carl went directly to the large metal table in the middle of the shed and pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol out from under it. He grinned and uncapped it, pouring a small pool onto the table. Then he pulled a small box of matches from his pocket.

Tom hurriedly backed up almost to the door. "Are you _mental?_" he practically screamed. His voice cracked, but he was too terrified for his own and his friend's safety to care. "I've never worked with fireworks, but even _I_ know that you're not supposed to mix them with fire until you want them to go off!"

"Relax, man," Carl replied in annoyance. "We've got wizardry, remember? We can always politely ask it to leave the fireworks alone. Sheesh." Then he struck a match and touched the small fire to the alcohol, sending a tongue of flame up from the table. Immediately his expression changed from impatient to enthralled. "Can you hear it?" he whispered.

Tom could hear the crackling of the fire and some bits of Speech, but somehow he didn't think that was what the older boy meant. "Hear what?" The freshman still wasn't completely convinced that this was safe, but if the place went up in flames he wanted there to be a chance that he might save his wizarding partner.

The hushed answer sent goosebumps up Tom's skin. "It's _singing_."

Now that Carl mentioned it, Tom could hear the faintest music coming from the fire. It was just enough for him to know that his friend wasn't _completely_ off his rocker. "A little," he said slowly, still wary. "That's what you wanted to show me?"

Carl grinned. "Not all of it." He turned his attention back to the flames and started muttering in the Speech. Tom's mouth dropped open. Where before the fire flickered in a random pattern, now it had rhythm; it kept time to some strange, foreign tune. But the young wizard didn't stop there. No, he casually reached his hand into the base of the flame, cupped it—and picked it up, still murmuring to it in the Speech. It sounded like encouragement, and Tom couldn't tell if it was real or his own imagination, but the crackling seemed to get livelier. Carl flipped his hand, allowing the flames to engulf it, then rubbed his other hand against the fiery one. Now he stood with fire on just one fingertip of each hand, burning bright and hot and blue. He put his hands to the table and started tracing a network of patterns on the metal, and wherever his fingers went a brief flicker of light trailed behind. He was completely focused, delighting in the dancing flames.

Finally, reluctantly, he flicked his hands and the fire went out. Carl's face was sweat-stained but triumphant; he held the previously flaming hands out to inspect them. "No burns. See? That's why I'm not worried about fire in here anymore. It _listens_ to me, Tom. If I ask it not to burn the fuses, it won't. Sorry I scared you."

Tom's face was a mask of disbelief. He wondered why his head was spinning. Then he let out a breath and realized he'd been holding it the entire time. He took another gulp of air and the feeling lessened, but did not abate entirely. "It was terrifying," the blonde freshman said evenly. "It wasn't so much the fire, though that part was scary enough. It was more your expression. I've never seen you more focused on _anything_, not even other wizardry stuff. It looked like you could've gladly burned—heh, pun—burned through all your power without realizing how dangerous it was. But still." He grinned suddenly, and saw Carl's face relax in relief. "It was _awesome_. Just...just be careful, okay? We just started being wizards, I don't want to have a bad track record with having partners die on me!"

"I promise I'll be careful," he said sincerely, smiling. "Cross my heart and hope to, um, live...and what's so funny now?"

"It's just," Tom replied, smirking, "that it's just my luck. My wizarding partner's a pyromaniac. Wonderful. I get to cast spells with a pyro."

"I prefer pyro_mancer,_ thank you very much," Carl sniffed haughtily, then cracked up. He couldn't keep a straight face with his friend looking at him like that. "Guess I'd better hope we don't use Bunsen burners in chem. But I'd _love_ to see my teacher try to explain that away.

"If you pull a stunt like that I swear I'll slap you across the face, Carl Romeo." The reply was even and serious.

"Tsk tsk, Swale. Violence is not the answer. Make love, not war." Suddenly he flushed. "Whoops, sorry, um...th-that came out wrong..."

Tom's expression had gone from serious to thoroughly shocked before finally settling on amusement. "O-_kay_ then, Romeo," he teased, turning away and pretending to be coy. The fourteen-year-old even batted his eyelashes for effect.

"Shut up."

He snickered. "That has to rank in the top ten list of things you should never say to your same-sex, gay friend. Unless, of course..." He waggled his eyebrows lewdly.

Carl's face turned an interesting shade of puce. "Shut _up_ shut _up_ shut _up_."

Tom was quite enjoying messing with his friend's head. "You know, you _are_ quite attractive," he said with a devilish grin. "I might be able to arrange something!"

Carl turned away, put his face in his hands, and let out a muffled groan. "You know, if entropy weren't running or it wasn't in my job description to prevent it, I'd probably be murdering you right about now. Keep talking like that and, wizard or no, I swear to _God_ I'll slaughter you and hide all the evidence."

The freshman couldn't stop his laughter from ringing out into the shed.


	4. Chapter 4: Surprise

Once again, it ain't mine, save for the unfamiliar characters and the situations! I would love to own Young Wizards, but I don't think my name is Diane Duane!

Chapter 4: Surprise

The next week or so was surprisingly uneventful—that is, as uneventful as a teenaged wizard's life could get. Tom was beginning to come out of the shell he'd built at school. He talked with people a little more, he smiled more in class; really, he wasn't trying to hide behind silence and his books anymore. His friendship with Carl had strengthened him. The mind-touching communication had also helped. It had gotten more refined. Now both partners could send thoughts to each other and understand the general ideas behind them. They still hadn't figured out how to only send thoughts intentionally, but that would come with time.

Now he was sitting in physics class yet again, listening fondly to the teacher's confident explanation of the kinematics equations. It was comforting, in a way. He knew the material backwards and forwards; all he had to do was let the information wash over him. Tom even closed his eyes and smiled a little.

"Tom, I know you know everything in this lecture, but it's generally polite to stay awake in class," came the dry Mr. Kolibri's voice, interrupting his calm. It did not sound stern or harsh, but the titters from his classmates were unwelcome and embarrassing.

The boy's dark eyes flew open and his brow furrowed the slightest bit. "Yessir," he said resignedly, not bothering to point out that he _had_ been awake and even paying attention. He sank the slightest bit further into his chair.

Mr. Kolibri nodded and continued. Tom sighed. Then he began to feel frustration that wasn't his.

_Now is really not the time_, he thought to himself, a bit exasperated. But then he realized that he could use this to see if he could look like he was paying attention in class and communicate with Carl at the same time. _What is it?_ he asked, focusing the thoughts like a laser beam in the hopes that the words themselves would get across.

Surprise, a little bit of confusion, apology.

Tom smiled. _I'll describe it later, and it's fine. History getting to you again_?

Affirmative. A tinge of hope.

He would've burst out laughing if it wouldn't have gotten him in trouble. Instead he twirled his pencil and looked at the board. _No, Carl, I can't help you. You have to learn how to be specific._

Intense frustration.

Tom could imagine Carl banging his head on the desk, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face still. L_ater. Pay attention in class. Take what notes you can._ This narrow-focus mind-touching was mentally tiring, so he stopped using it and sent vague reassurance instead.

The bell rang suddenly, making him jump in his seat. The students behind him snickered as they packed their bookbags and filed out of the room. Tom was about to do the same, but Mr. Kolibri's voice stopped him: "Stay a minute, Tom."

The boy felt confusion and momentary panic, along with the same thumping heart any adolescent feels when asked to stay behind after class. But he covered it up well and nodded, then realized that the teacher's back was turned towards him, as he was erasing the blackboard. So he murmured a quick "Yes, Mr. Kolibri" instead.

The seconds stretched impossibly. To busy himself he set his bookbag on the desk behind him, then leaned against it. Finally he fidgeted. What was the matter? What had he done?

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Swale," came the physics teacher's voice, louder now that he was facing his student.

Tom studied him to keep his nerves at bay. The man was fairly tall and trim, with light brown hair just starting to turn silver at the temples. Kind and clear brown eyes peered through rounded glasses perched on a fine-boned nose. The lines in his face seemed relatively deep, but it didn't mar his youthful appearance. All in all rather ordinary-looking (_and decently attractive,_ added the more hormonally active area of Tom's brain helpfully). Except for his hands. The hands were long, slender, and expressive, a creator's hands; they were currently smudged with white chalk dust.

"Now, I know this is far from standard school procedure," the man said, breaking his student's concentration and causing him to pause in his observations. "A pity, too; it's a cruel, vicious world in high school. As I'm sure you've found out." A sympathetic half-smile twitched on his lips. Tom nodded in response, mentally wincing at the beating he'd taken earlier that year. "I'm concerned about you. I know how heartless people can be. You're different, Tom, and you've suffered for it. Yes?"

Another nod. Tom could feel his nerves drifting out of him, replaced by more confusion. What was he getting at?

"You remind me of myself when I was your age. Eager to learn, but different. We're more similar than you know." The teacher held his gaze for a moment, then walked to the sink and began to clean the chalk from his hands.

The words caught Tom by surprise, and before he could stop himself... "You're gay?"

Mr. Kolibri looked mildly amused. "Not in the sense you're thinking of, Tom, though I don't blame you for jumping to that conclusion." The boy's ears flushed with embarrassment. The teacher finished washing his hands and pretended not to notice. "I just wanted to offer a willing ear, if you need to talk about anything. Anything at all, _cousin_."

Tom Swale couldn't help it; once his quick mind had connected the dots that his teacher had set out for him, his jaw dropped. Then he chided himself for looking like a fish and closed his mouth. "Cousin. You're a wizard. I should've known."

In a voice as dry as Tom himself had used on so many occasions, Mr. Kolibri replied, "I'm actually glad you didn't. I'm a physics teacher; I should hope I don't broadcast the fact that I'm a wizard to my students. That could prove problematic." Tom nodded thoughtfully, smiling at the understatement. "But anyway. I just wanted to make sure you were well. I know it's been hard for you, and you have a lot on your mind because there's just a lot in your life. But Grogan seems to be leaving you alone now that you have Carl as a friend."

"How'd you know?"

That got a genuine laugh in response. "Please, Tom, I may be over twice your age, but I'm not _blind_. I do actually pay attention to what goes on in the halls. If it had gotten any worse I would've interfered," he continued in a more sober tone, "but the school policy is pretty much a 'once they fight it out everyone will know their place and it'll calm down'."

Tom nodded. "I understand. Thank you, Mr. Kolibri." He turned to leave at the teacher's nod of permission, then looked over his shoulder. "Oh, sorry about not paying attention in class today. Carl was trying to coerce me into helping him with history from afar."

"You didn't, did you? Not that I could prove he cheated if you did, but..."

The boy chuckled. "Of course not. I'll help him with it later. It's just...mind-touching that specifically is tiring."

Kolibri's eyebrows rose. "You're partners, then?"

"Yeah."

"That's interesting."

"What's interesting about it?"

"Thought he was straight."

It took Tom a moment to figure out what he meant by that, then he spluttered, "No! _Wizarding_ partners!" His face turned red as he remembered making the exact same mistake.

The physics teacher held up a hand, finally free of chalk, and led them to a pair of desks. They sat. "Listen a minute, please. When a wizarding partnership develops, it forms a very close, very loving bond between the two people. Sometimes—not always, mind you, but on occasion—the two members of this partnership end up becoming partners in a more conventional sense." He looked far away, as if he was gazing miles beyond the cinderblock walls.

"Sir?"

"It's a wizarding conversation, call me Rick." The brown eyes were unreadable.

"Um, okay, Rick...can I ask what you're thinking about?"

"It's not a pleasant story."

"I'd like to hear it."

The man shook himself and looked at his left hand. On the ring finger was a slim platinum band set with a tiny emerald. Tom followed his gaze and frowned. His mother had told him that platinum and emeralds were traditional symbols of 20-year anniversaries; however, Mr. Kolibri—_Rick_, he reminded himself—wore no other rings, and definitely did not look even close to forty years old. Surely he hadn't been married for twenty years? And if so, where was his wedding band?

Rick took a deep, shuddering breath and strove to keep a steady voice. It ended up sounding flat and monotone. It was the same one Tom had used to keep from crying on so many occasions, and he winced. "Mary was my partner. I met her when I was twelve. She was my best friend. We fell in love two years later. The next year, she died."

"Over twenty years ago," Tom whispered, feeling a rush of compassion for his teacher. "Shit...I'm sorry."

"Language, Swale," Kolibri corrected automatically. Then Rick took off the ring and studied it. "You recognized the significance. I'm impressed." A pained expression crossed his face. "I shouldn't have told you that. I apologize. But you would have figured it out anyway."

"What happened?"

There was a painful pause, then Rick looked down at his hands. Instead of answering, he said simply, "You should go. Some other time I might tell you, but not...not now. And Tom—I will not ask you to keep this a secret, but merely use your discretion? Please?"

The boy nodded and rose to his feet, then tentatively put a hand on his fellow wizard's shoulder. When the man did nothing but continue to stare stonily at the band, Tom whispered another "I'm sorry" before exiting the classroom and closing the door silently behind him.

Only then did Rick Kolibri allow his mask to slip. He put his face into those long-fingered, elegant hands, that had last made music or drawn or brushed his beloved girlfriend's hair from her eyes so many years ago, and wept.

**I'm so sorry I took so long to update this, everyone. I got stuck somewhere with the situation and didn't know what was going to happen. Then Mr. Kolibri told me that he had to have a tragic past! Go figure, huh?**

**Well, anyway. As a thank-you for being so patient with me, I am uploading _two_ chapters today. Thank you to my readers and reviewers, your comments really mean a lot to me! **


	5. Chapter 5: Ouch

Only the original characters and the situations belong to me. The rest is Diane Duane's. *points* And if you haven't read her work _go do it and stop reading fanfictions for it now! _

Chapter 5: Ouch

The good part about staying behind after class, Tom mused, was that bullies were less likely to be roaming the—

"Hey, gay boy!"

Well that was just great. Not only was he emotionally unstable from that unexpected and rather upsetting encounter with his physics teacher, but his biggest tormenter had stuck around in the halls to make sure he got his daily quota of torture. Clearly the universe hated him.

Suddenly it was too much. He couldn't stand there and take the abuse without retaliating just a little bit, even if it came back to bite him later. "Yes, dirt-for-brains?" he replied coldly, continuing to walk towards his locker.

He could almost _feel_ Jacob Grogan's sneer at his back as he passed him. "Well well well. Looks like the little faggot's grown a spine after all."

The purely analytical part of Tom's mind marveled at how quickly anger, both fiery and ice-cold, consumed him. He stopped walking. His hands balled into fists. "Don't call me that."

"Aw, why shouldn't I tell the little fag what he is? It's not like I'm wrong!"

The freshman spun slowly on his heel, eyes smoldering. "Do you know what you're actually saying?" he asked, his voice deadly soft.

Grogan smirked. "That you like to suck cock and take it up the ass?"

Tom's mind filed that away as one of the few things Jacob Grogan ever said that _might_ be even occasionally true before he continued to talk in that quiet, calm, dangerous voice. "A faggot, according to the dictionary, is a bundle of sticks. And Jacob, do you know how a bundle of sticks got to be related to homosexuality? I'll assume you don't, because you have demonstrated to me that you have the mental capacity and interest in etymology of an earthworm." Tom began to stalk towards the bully with an almost feline grace brought about by his cold fury. "In days of yore, homosexuality was punishable by death. The officials would make these homosexuals go out and gather bundles of sticks, or _faggots_. And do you know why? Do you know _why_, Jacob Grogan?" The smaller boy was now inches away from the football player's face. His voice had gone from deceptively soft to a sibilant hiss. "Because we were gathering our own firewood to be _burned at the stake_."

Grogan took an involuntary step back, shocked by his would-be victim's actions. Then he realized what he'd done and sneered triumphantly. "So you admit it! You _are_ gay!"

Tom looked at him as if he'd grown eyestalks from his nose. Then he let out a peal of hysterical laughter, high and mocking and disbelieving. "You really _are_ an idiot," he said. "Guess the fact that I _never denied it_ didn't quite sink in, huh?" More laughter bubbled from his mouth, accompanied by the tears he hadn't shed just a few minutes ago.

The bully's face contorted into an expression of hatred. He took the smaller boy by the shoulders and slammed him into the lockers. "Thanks for the history lesson, _fag_," he said viciously, digging his thumbs where they would cause the most pain. "You and all of your kind _should_ burn at the stake. Then after that you'll burn in Hell, where you belong."

"_What have I ever done to you?_" Tom screamed in his face. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"My brother was raped by your kind," he muttered fiercely. "He was thirteen. He's never been the same. He's always terrified of everything. I have to stop you before you start fancying little boys like the pervert you are."

Tom was dumbfounded for a full ten seconds, during which Jacob proceeded to slam him into the wall. Out of instinct he hunched his shoulders and made sure his head didn't hit the lockers. Then when he could speak, he said in the same tone of voice, "Oh, because that makes sense! I was threatened to death by a straight and his cronies! I'm fourteen! So I guess the only logical way to react is to _hate all straights and wish for them all to die_..."

This made Jacob Grogan stop short and even loosen his grip, though he didn't let go. His mouth worked as he tried to find an answer. Tom held his breath, hoping to be released. Then the bully scowled darkly and tightened his hands again. "Maybe I just don't like you."

"Jacob Grogan. Get your hands off me. _Now_." Tom had tears of pain streaming down his face, but his voice was completely flat and emotionless.

"Or you'll what, little queer?"

Instead of answering, he aimed a false kick at the older boy's groin. When Grogan let go to protect it, Tom tried to dart out, but failed. He was trapped.

"Mr. Swale, Mr. Grogan, _what_ is going on here?" came a voice Tom was extremely glad to hear. Jacob Grogan turned around and caught sight of Mr. Kolibri's icy glare. Tom noticed that his eyes were rimmed with red and felt a pang of guilt for having inadvertently caused him to cry, but he was too relieved to let it affect him too much.

"Tom! _Tom!_ Grogan, just leave him alone, I warned you..." Carl's voice, then the boy himself, came down the long hallway. Both stopped abruptly as the sophomore saw that there was already a teacher on the scene.

"Mr. Grogan. This is a very serious offense. You are therefore suspended until further notice."

"But Mr. Kolibri..."

"_Silence_, Jacob, or I'll expel you on the spot!" Never had any of them seen the laid-back, easygoing teacher so angry. "You will come with me. Carl, make sure Tom isn't badly hurt, then take him home." The physics teacher marched the bully away, his normally kind eyes as hard as flint.

The two boys stared at each other for a few seconds, both breathing heavily. Then Tom started trembling and very slowly slid into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Tom?" Carl asked, alarmed. He had felt the fear, the panic, the anger over their swiftly developing mental link, and it had been worse than ever before, but somehow he'd never expected Tom to break down. He'd always been strong. Never let it get to him. But here he was, shaking like a leaf and...was he _crying?_ "Tom, Tom...easy now. It's okay, it's over. Shh, you're okay." Carl went over to his friend and hugged him soothingly until the shudders stopped and his breathing slowed.

In an attempt to regain his composure, Tom said in a feebly dry voice, "Well, _that_'ll be sore tomorrow..."

Carl started and guiltily loosened his embrace, then backed away altogether. "Let's see what he did to you."

Tom tried to shrug it off. "I really don't think..."

"Dammit, Tom," Carl said, his voice sharp with frustration, which made the freshman flinch. He felt bad, but continued. "Come on. Kolibri said to see how bad you were hurt. I'm your friend. I also learned a couple of healing spells."

Tom sighed. "Badly, not bad... Okay, you win. Just...I bruise easily, so it probably looks worse than...yeah." He stood and peeled off his shirt, dropping it on the floor and facing away from his friend.

"Jesus, Tom," Carl whispered with a sharp intake of breath. Tom's back was patterned with red, purple, and blue, with several mostly healed but still greenish and yellow splotches near the bottom. His upper back, though, was the worst, as it was swiftly darkening into several ugly colors, and swelling to boot.

"I didn't know I was _that_ attractive," joked the injured boy, regaining some of his mischievous sense of humor.

Carl merely shook his head and pulled out his Manual. He knew this could hurt. He also knew that he didn't want his best friend to walk around with that much bleeding under the skin. "Okay," he said, suddenly nervous. "It might hurt a little, at first. And I won't be able to get all of them, just the really bad ones. But it'll be better than it is. Okay?"

Tom nodded, giving him permission to heal the worst of his bruises. He really didn't want his back to be immobile the next day.

"Okay," Carl said again to himself. Then he started to chant in the Speech, tracing his right hand lightly on the darkest bruises.

He was right. It did hurt. Not unbearably, but enough that he had to stop himself from protesting. But it also felt better than before, simply because the healing was warm, and he _really_ hadn't been looking forward to sleeping with ice packs on his shoulders. It was also nice, his hormones informed him, that the hand was brushing so lightly against his skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake...

_No_, he told himself firmly, even as his breath involuntarily hitched as his friend finished the minor healing.

"Sorry," Carl said, misunderstanding the reaction. "You okay? The bruises've gone down. Did it hurt?"

"Only a little," Tom answered, then thought over it again. "Well...maybe a little more than a little. But it wasn't too bad. And that feels better now." He rolled his shoulders experimentally and winced. "Yeah. A lot better than it was before." The freshman turned a little towards his wizarding partner and smiled in gratitude, reaching for the shirt he had dropped. Then he frowned at Carl's expression. "What're you...oh."

There were more bruises on Tom's front, including a large, though fading, one on his ribs where Grogan had hurt him a couple of weeks earlier. The most prominent ones, however, were ugly ones beginning to show on and just beneath his collarbones, where the bully's thumbs had dug. They were worse than even the ones on his back had been; the skin here was thinner and more delicate, and spread over only a small surface area. "I can't do another healing like that, Tom," Carl said regretfully, reaching out a hand to lightly trace the bruise. "But I think I can still muster up the strength to kill Grogan."

Tom's breathing hitched and he closed his eyes.

"Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you," Carl told him, lessening the pressure and going to the bruise on the other side. "Just trying to figure out how bad these really are."

"It didn't hurt," his friend said in a strange voice, putting his hands on his hips and squeezing the bones tightly, eyes still closed.

"Oh, okay. Good." Carl ran his thumb over the swelling, trying to gauge how much he should make Jacob Grogan suffer before he killed him.

Tom's breath hitched again, then he whimpered a little.

"Thought you said it didn't hurt," Carl Romeo said, looking at the slightly less angry-looking purple splotches above the bone.

"I assure you, it doesn't hurt. It feels good. Too good, in fact. I promise you, if you keep doing that, soon you're going to end up getting soundly kissed."

Carl stilled his hand and looked confused. "W-what?"

The freshman muttered a strangled "Jesus, that's even worse." Then slightly louder, and still without opening his eyes: "I'll explain. Just back up a step or three and st-stop touching me, please."

His friend complied, still confused and looking a little hurt.

He waited for his breathing to regulate itself before speaking. The words came out in a rush, but were all surprisingly clearly spoken. "I am a gay male teenager. I am standing shirtless while my attractive, male best friend, whom I like and trust, is caressing my back and neck. My hormones are telling me to jump your bones. And while I'm sure I'd find the willpower to stop before then..." He trailed off and opened his eyes to see a rather uncomfortable-looking Carl staring back at him. Tom shook his head wonderingly. "You really didn't figure that out? Not at all?" He put his shirt back on, hiding the discolored patches of skin from view.

The sophomore shook his head, abashed, then quickly changed the subject. "Mr. Kolibri looked really upset. Not just angry-upset, but he looked like he'd been crying. D'you know what happened? Didn't you just have physics with him?"

Tom was just as glad as his friend was to change the topic of conversation. "Actually, yes, on both counts." The two started walking towards Tom's locker.

"You planning on telling me?"

"Yeah. Um...it's kind of odd and kind of sad. Alright, very sad."

"I'm not _that_ dense. He was _crying_, after all."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Well anyway. He told me to stay after class, and then he told me he wanted me to know I could talk to him about anything. He left clues here and there to say he was a wizard, then he called me 'cousin;' I asked him about it and he confirmed it."

"Really? Interesting."

"Yeah. Then I mentioned our thought-sharing thing, and he...well..."

"What?"

Tom took a deep breath and told Carl about what had happened to Mary, then explained what the teacher had told him about partners and intimate relationships.

"That's awful," he whispered.

"Yeah. I know. So...that's why I stood up to Grogan. And why he beat me up today. I was kind of on edge from that, and from wondering...wondering about..." The freshman made a vague gesture with his hand. "You know."

His partner nodded somberly. "Hey, if you die on me, I'll kill you," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sure you don't want to try the Disney method?" Tom was wearing a wicked grin before he drew his lips into an exaggerated pucker.

Carl stuck his tongue out. "You wish."

Tom Swale spared him a surreptitious, sidelong glance and was surprised and slightly alarmed at how true he found his friend's words to be.

**Again, thank you for being patient with me! Also, please don't hurt me for making all the emotion changes so fast. But I gave Tom a backbone! *is proud of self* Not my favorite chapter, especially since I only worked on it in a few hours. But I enjoyed writing it. I wanted to put in that little etymological gem about the word "faggot" in there. Please reconsider using that word. Thanks everyone!**


	6. Chapter 6: Secrets

**Disclaimer:**  
Mine are the OC's  
the situations as well  
but all things you recognize  
in Diane Duane's head dwell.

Chapter 6: Secrets

All the difficulties Tom and Carl had with mind-touching seemed to crumble into dust. When Tom woke up that Saturday morning he was shocked by the thoughts already buzzing through his head. It took him a moment to realize that they were Carl's. Then he tried to sit up and felt a momentary panic flare up when he had minor problems doing so.

_What is it? What's wrong, what happened?_ demanded Carl—loudly.

Tom winced. That was giving him a headache. _Disoriented. Could you try to back off a little bit? Hide your thoughts? Because my mind is only used to having one person in it._ He tried to keep his mind touch gentle to see if he could, and he didn't want his friend to hurt himself.

_Sorry_, Carl said, muting his thoughts some. It helped. _Didn't think I was that bad._

_It's okay. That's better. Um, Carl?_

_Yeah?_

_You might want to stay away from the fireworks today._

Tom caught his friend's amusement. _I figured that one out on my own. Thanks though._

_No problem. I'm gonna try to see if I can pull out of your mind entirely. Tell me afterwards if it works?_

_Sure thing._

Tom breathed in and out, quieting the portion of his mind that he could. Then he tried to sift his own thoughts from Carl's. It worked; after a few tense seconds he could tell that his mind's only resident was himself. He breathed a sigh of relief, then frowned. Should it really take that much effort to keep his thoughts from his partner's?

His control slipped and he was immediately hit with a barrage of Carl's thoughts and emotions. He felt his partner recoil from the shock; then Carl had the good sense to pull back a little bit and give them both a little room to breathe.

_Yeah, it worked,_ said Carl dryly._ Now all we have to do is figure out how to maintain it. Especially while you sleep._

Tom smiled a bit. When he actually remembered his dreams, they were quite strange. _What'd I dream about?_

_Um._ For some reason Carl was reluctant to answer. _I'd rather not discuss it._

_Oh come on. That's not fair. I almost never remember my...oh. Wait a second._ Tom had an inkling of a hunch as to what he must have dreamt about for Carl to not want to answer him. He felt a tendril of embarrassment and horror begin to grow in the pit of his stomach. _Oh no. Please don't tell me...oh _no. His face flushed; he pulled his knees to his chest and buried his beet red face in them. He was afraid to even whisper the question that had to be asked. _How bad?_

Carl blushed a bit too. _Not too bad. I gave you as much privacy as I could when I saw...well, when I figured out what kind of dream..._

_Thank you. Oh God, Carl, I'm so sorry._

_It's fine,_ Carl said with forced cheerfulness. _You're a teenager. We all get those kinds of dreams. Well, maybe not exactly those kinds...you're gay, after all..._

His suspicions confirmed, Tom's cheeks and ears burned even more. He knew he should just let the conversation die, change the subject, but he found himself consumed by a morbid curiosity. _You sure it wasn't that bad?_

Carl paused, and Tom had a sinking feeling that he was trying to figure out how to word his answer diplomatically.

_Just tell me, Carl. It was my dream. I deserve to know what mental trauma my subconscious has inflicted upon you. I might even remember it eventually._

The sophomore was still reluctant to share, but the last point spurred him on. _It really wasn't that bad. Actually it was pretty tame. There was a lot of black mist. If it hadn't been a dream about...you know...sex...I would've called it artistic. But I really don't want to keep talking about it, how am I going to explain to my mom why I'm blushing so much if she comes to my room?_

_Okay...um...yeah. Well, anyway, sorry._

_No problem._

_Um...if you catch me at it again, if you can't block me out entirely...wake me up?_

_Sure thing. Same for me?_

_Sure._

They both remained in silence for a time, pulling away from each other's thoughts. Tom was puzzled. If the dream wasn't that bad, why was Carl so embarrassed by it? Was it because it had to do with two men, or because Tom and Carl were good friends? Maybe it was a bit of both. _Probably no more than that,_ he assured himself.

He jumped when he heard his mother's voice from downstairs. "Tom! Breakfast's ready!"

Tom looked down and realized he had to change into a different pair of pajama pants. "Just a minute!" he replied, doing so, then going downstairs to eat.

Saturday morning breakfast in the Swale household was a casual affair. Eggs, hash browns, and pancakes usually made an appearance, as well as leftovers from past dinners. Tom's mother just so happened to be an excellent chef, and he and his dad enjoyed telling her so.

After washing the dishes as tradition dictated, Tom went back upstairs to try to get some work done. Mr. Kolibri had been the only teacher to assign him any real homework, so he pulled out his physics textbook, notebook, and pencil to complete the assigned problems.

But it was boring, tedious work. Letting out a sigh of annoyance—he already _knew_ how to apply the kinematics equations to the textbook situations, thank you very much—he snapped the book closed and decided not to waste the beautiful day. He would go to the park and study the Speech. Maybe he could even figure out a spell to get Grogan to leave him alone.

Ten minutes later he was walking out the door, Manual in hand. It was warm out, so he walked slowly, savoring the feel of sunshine on his face and still-sore back. He stretched his arms and winced, but he could tell the bruises were much better than they would've been.

_Carl, man, thanks for the healing yesterday. I owe you one._ It was a relief to drop the rigid shield he had around his thoughts, if only a little bit.

Tom could feel Carl smile in surprise. _No problem. You'd have done the same for me. Why're you thanking me now?_

_Going to the park and my shoulders don't hurt. I'll be working on the Speech._

_Oh, okay. Cool._

Tom caught himself wishing Carl would come with him to the park. Then he blushed, remembering the morning and realizing that they could probably both use a little space.

_Tom? Something wrong?_

Apparently Carl had caught a little of that. _No, everything's fine. Talk to you later, okay?_

_Sure. Uh...Tom?_

_Hm?_

After a pause, Carl said, _Stay safe._

Then the sophomore pulled back, giving his partner his mind back. Tom couldn't for the life of him figure out why the last sentiment had him smiling for a good few minutes.

Apparently many people had had the same idea as the fourteen-year-old. The park was crowded; children ran around and flung stale breadcrumbs for the pigeons while adults kept a watchful eye on them. Tom felt a pang of jealousy when he passed a young couple sharing a chaste kiss, but he was soon distracted by the feeling of a large, somewhat fluffy dog pressing against his leg.

He grinned. Tom loved dogs. This one was black and white, with intelligent brown eyes and a long, tapered muzzle. A sheepdog. A very friendly sheepdog, by the looks of it; its tail wagged furiously, sending the silky fur into fuzzy disarray.

Tom knew that it was safest to ask permission before touching a strange dog, but this one had walked right up to him and was obviously not dangerous, at least at the moment. So he ruffled its ears, which got a more enthusiastic tail-wag. "Hey, buddy," he said, delighted. Then he asked in the Speech, _"Hi, where're your people? What's your name? You're not lost, are you?"_

_"A talking human!"_ the dog yapped, happy with her—for the presence was distinctly female—discovery. _"Hi! Hi! Tilly. You? Hi! Play with me?"_

The boy couldn't help but laugh at the dog's enthusiasm. _"I'm Tom. Hi! If you take me to your people I can ask if I can play with you."_

Just then another young boy's voice called out, "Tilly! Tilly, where'd you go? Here, girl!"

Like an arrow she was off, sprinting and barking madly, tail and ears flying back in the air. _"Master! Hi! I'm here. Can Tom play with us? Please? He's nice! Hi, Master!"_

Tom laughed and followed her as quickly as he dared. Sometimes he wished he could be as carefree as the dog was. Then again, it might get lonely not being able to talk to most humans, except in the crudest and basic ways...

Lost in thought, he nearly walked into the boy around whom Tilly was prancing. He started and stumbled back a step. "Oh, I'm sorry, I was just trying to find out who the dog...belonged...are you alright?" The other boy had jumped back, eyes wide, and nearly fallen over. His chest was heaving up and down. In short, he looked absolutely terrified. "I'm sorry, oh, I'm so sorry...are you hurt? What's wrong!"

Now the boy's breathing seemed to slow, and he quickly averted his eyes, staring at his dog. She pressed against his leg comfortingly and let his hand rest on her head while she whined in sympathy, staring at Tom reproachfully. He finally gulped down a few more breaths and muttered, "I'm f-f-fine. Sorry. You just sc-scared me is all."

Tom gave him a strange look. "You sure? I didn't run into you or anything? I've done that before without noticing, though usually only when I was reading."

The other boy gave a short, sharp shake of his head by way of answering, still looking at his dog. He seemed to not want to make eye contact.

_That's weird,_ Tom thought, though kept that sentiment to himself. Instead he smiled warmly and commented, "That's a wonderful dog you've got there. She came right up to me and asked me to play. Wish I had a dog."

He almost missed it, but it seemed like the boy shot him a glance for a moment from behind his bangs. Those eyes, when they weren't hidden by raven black hair that was just a little too long, were a bright, piercing blue. A slow, proud, unaffected grin spread itself across his face. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Tilly's the best. She's my best friend. And she's all mine. Well, my mom and dad technically bought her, but she likes me best." He stroked her silky ears lovingly, and her tail began to beat a steady tattoo on his leg.

"She's a gorgeous dog," Tom said honestly, deciding that this kid his age, while odd, wasn't half bad.

He spoke a little louder, the pride in his voice unmistakable. "Thanks. I take care of her. Actually, the only thing I don't do is buy her food." He stopped talking for a little while, content to pet Tilly's head, then shyly offered, "My name's Josh."

"I'm Tom. Nice to meet you."

"You too...what's that book you have?"

Tom had nearly forgotten about the manual he was carrying. His mind raced. He seemed to recall reading that the manual had a way to disguise itself; so he took a gamble and handed it over with a smile. "See for yourself."

The other boy took it and flipped it open. Then he froze. Slowly he formed the words. "So You Want To Be a Wizard..." He frowned. "Surely this is some sort of a joke." Tom shrugged noncommittally. "Funny, I remember something like this...two years ago? I actually thought I was doing magic, too. Or 'wizardry', as I called it." He smiled sadly, closed the book, and handed it back over to Tom.

The freshman was doing his best to keep an even expression. He was getting a feeling as to what might have happened. Was Josh saying that he had forgotten wizardry entirely, that it was just a part of his childhood? But what could make him do that? Outwardly he gave a wry grin. "Doesn't every kid dream of magic? I still do, I know that. Do you read a lot?"

Josh nodded eagerly, looking Tom in the eyes for the first time since he'd almost been trampled. The blonde was stunned by how bright and blue they were. "Love to. I have tons of books. Not many friends, but Tilly and my books are enough for me. And my family, of course."

Tom grinned. "I knew I liked you. We'll have to swap favorite titles sometime."

"Sure! You can come over to my house. Don't know when, but maybe soon. Let me introduce you to my mom!" Josh was beaming, delighted to have found a kindred spirit—and one who liked his beloved dog, no less. Tilly was wagging her tail and reveling in her master's good humor.

"Okay, why not?"

"And then when you come over you can meet my brother. You'll like him. It was his idea for me to get Tilly, you know, after...well...after." Josh faltered and frowned, then took a deep breath and put a smile back on his face. This one, however, looked a little strained.

Wisely Tom decided not to pry. It wouldn't do to drive his newest friend away. At the very least, Tilly would probably maul him, and he really didn't want to see the beautiful and friendly dog turn protectively vicious.

"Hello, Josh, and Tilly of course...and who's this?" A kind-looking woman with dark brown hair and eyes as bright as the boy's came bustling over, beaming at the two boys and the dog. Tilly wagged her tail furiously, but didn't leave her favorite person's side.

"Mom! Hi, this is Tom. Tilly kind of ran into him, and then he almost ran into me, and guess what? He likes to read as much as I do!" The black-haired boy's enthusiasm was contagious.

"Manners, Joshua. We haven't been properly introduced," she chided gently.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," Tom said, nodding his head respectfully. "My fault, I'm afraid—all we talked about was Tilly and books. I'm Tom Swale, pleasure to meet you."

The woman smiled and extended a hand, taking Tom's in a surprisingly strong grip. "My my, such a polite young man! The pleasure is mine. My name's Susan Grogan."

**Well, this _is_ a surprise. I don't do any work on it for months, and then suddenly three chapters demand to be written in two days. Well, hope you enjoyed them! And my apologies for the cliff-hanger, but if I didn't end it there the chapter wouldn't break naturally. I think I'm including at least two natural chapters in each one as it is.**


	7. Chapter 7: Grogan

**I do not own this universe. Unless something REALLY crazy and unexpected happens, I never will. Just borrowing it for a while!**

Chapter 7: Grogan

The seconds stretched impossibly as Tom's brain went into overdrive. He noticed in the back of his mind that his heart seemed to be beating ridiculously slowly, but that thought was abandoned as the facts came crashing into place, sounding strangely like a bell in his head.

Grogan. Susan Grogan.

_Clang_.

Joshua Grogan. Skittish, shy boy who didn't have many friends, except for his brother and his loyal dog.

_Clang_.

Jacob Grogan's brother, who was raped when he was thirteen. The reason Jacob hated gays so much. The reason he'd beaten Tom to a heap of bruises countless times.

_Tom? Tom! Are you alright?_ Carl's alarmed voice in his head wasn't helping matters.

_Back off a little, Carl. Sheesh you're loud. Just...look at the situation. Quietly, please. The friend I just made is Jacob Grogan's kid brother. I'm shaking hands with his mom. Can't really talk too much right now._ Tom put on his best smile so he wouldn't raise suspicions. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Grogan," he said, because he didn't think saying 'Oh hi, by the way, the reason your older son just got suspended was because he was trying to murder me' was such a great idea.

Luckily for him, she released his hand. "Run along now, boys. I don't want to keep you from talking about Tilly and books, as they seem to interest you both so much." She looked ecstatic that her shy son had found a friend.

_Shit,_ said Carl. To his credit, he was quiet.

_You're telling me._

_I meant what I said earlier. Stay safe. D'you want me to come make sure I can pull Jacob off you if he tries to attack you again?_

_Heh. No thanks. Not yet, at least. Let me talk to Josh for a while, okay? He seems like a really sweet kid._

"What're you smiling about?" Joshua's voice cut into his mental conversation. He didn't sound angry or suspicious, just innocently curious.

_Oh really? A really sweet kid, huh? You thinking of asking him out?_ Carl's voice was teasing. Tom knew he didn't really mean it.

_And have Grogan try to actually murder me? Yeah, right. I don't think so. I gotta go_. He turned toward his new friend and realized that he had indeed been walking with a vague smile on his face. It was a little embarrassing, so he made sure to keep his thoughts and only his own thoughts inside his head. "Oh, just thinking about how a friend cares enough about my well-being to tell me to stay safe, that's all."

Josh gave him a strange look, then smiled wisely, eyes turning back toward his dog.

"Now what're you smiling about?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all." The smile grew into a grin, belying his words.

"Come on, man, tell me!" Tom was confused, and equal parts irked and amused that Josh was showing this side of his personality.

The black-haired boy shot him a sly sidelong glance, still grinning. "_I_ think that _you_ have a crush."

That was the last thing that Tom had been expecting to hear, and he choked on his own spit. His eyes teared up from his coughing fit. Josh laughed aloud, a high, clear, delighted sound. Tom merely glared, which made his friend laugh even harder. Finally he regained his breath. "I do _not_," he protested hotly, cheeks burning.

"Sure, sure, if you say so," Josh said, waving a hand and still smiling infuriatingly.

"I _don't_ have a crush," Tom insisted.

"Okay."

"I _don't!_"

"Okay, I believe you." He obviously didn't. The smug grin was still there.

Tom glared daggers at him, getting only a smirk in response. He suddenly felt the need to change the subject. "Um...Josh?"

"Hm?"

"Remember how you said that I should come over sometime?"

"Yeah, so we can talk about books and play with Tilly and you can meet my brother."

With a deep breath, Tom told him, "I don't...I don't think that would be a very good idea."

Josh's brow furrowed. They had come to a nice shady tree, so they sat in the welcome coolness, while Tilly laid down and begged for a tummy rub. Her master obliged her. "Why not?"

"Well..." This was more difficult than it should've been. He took another breath to steel himself. _Better to get this over with than to get beaten to a pulp._ "Your brother and I go to the same school. He...doesn't like me very much." That was the understatement of the century.

The younger Grogan turned his quizzical blue eyes on his new friend. "Why not? You're nice. You like books. You like Tilly. Is it because you don't like sports? Because he gets a little frustrated with me because I don't."

Tom let out a huff of dry laughter. "If only that were the reason." He stared at his knees. The analytical part of his mind found humor in the irony that it was usually the black-haired boy who avoided the other's eyes. "No. He doesn't like me because I'm gay."

Tom was expecting a violent reaction. Maybe screaming, maybe scrambling to get away from him, maybe falling on him with the intent to kill. Anything but the shocked silence, followed by a quiet "Oh." He looked up, surprised, at Josh's face. His blue eyes were unreadable. "What, exactly, did he tell you?" The boy's voice was soft and devoid of emotion.

Well, he hadn't expected to have to explain _this_. Matching Josh's tone, he answered, "That you were raped by...my kind...when you were thirteen, and you're scared of everything now." Josh gave a short, sharp nod, so Tom continued. "That we should all be burned at the stake, and after that we'd burn in Hell, because we're all perverts who fancy little boys."

"That sounds like him," admitted Josh. "He left out some of it." He took a slow breath. "He blames himself. In his mind he was supposed to protect me, but I ran off. It wasn't his fault. I was playing that stupid wizardry game." His voice was bitter. "So then the man found me. I don't really remember that much of it, except he covered my eyes and it hurt. I was so ashamed, and Jacob d-didn't mean to, but he made it worse, blaming himself..." Josh stopped speaking and squeezed his eyes shut. Tilly whined and nosed his hand, and he took a shaking breath and continued. "I was thirteen. I thought if I were gone, he wouldn't have to blame himself, and I wouldn't be a burden. So I wrote a note and tried to kill myself. I almost managed it, too," he said with a noise that was half dry sob, half terrified laugh. "But there was s-so much blood, and I panicked and yelled, and Jacob found me. And blamed himself. Again. So much so that he refused to leave my side because he was terrified I'd try something else. I couldn't be around people, couldn't stand to be touched. Then he thought of getting Tilly for me. So I'm...better than I've been for a while, but a lot worse than I was...before." He shook himself and looked sadly at the ground. "You're probably wondering why I told you all this."

Tom nodded, unable to speak for fear that he would start bawling, and pity was the last thing he wanted to give the boy.

"I don't have many friends because they deserve to know why I act the way I do. I get moody and impulsive, and most of the time I'd prefer to read or spend quiet time with Tilly. Most of them leave after the story."

"Not me," Tom whispered vehemently, shaking his head. "The people who left after hearing that didn't deserve to have you as a friend."

A surprised smile slowly curved Josh's lips upwards. "You mean it?"

"Of course. You're a good kid."

Then Josh frowned. "But my brother hates you. He doesn't trust you."

"Well then," Tom said lightly, "we'll have to show him that he can, now won't we?"

"How are you planning to do that?"

"Listen, Josh," Tom joked with a lopsided smile, "if he has to be there to supervise us every time we meet and I have to have my hands tied behind my back, he wouldn't have much to complain about, now would he?"

The blue-eyed boy chuckled at the image. "Guess not. But you wouldn't really do that."

The freshman got a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "Oh wouldn't I?"

Josh laughed. "You're insane."

"So I've been told. On many occasions."

"Well. Now that we've got that out of the way..." A wicked grin took up residence on Josh's face, one that almost made Tom blanch in terror. "So who's this boy you're crushing on?"

"Honestly, you're worse than my parents, which I didn't even think was possible," he said darkly, shaking his head. "Carl is a _friend_ who just so happens to be _male_. We've had to work together on several very important projects over the last week or so. I am not _crushing_ on him." Why, oh why, were his cheeks and ears flaming? He was very glad he'd kept the mental shield up. Carl would tease him mercilessly if he found out.

"Of course you're not," Josh replied in a voice that was equal parts placating and doubting, and altogether infuriating.

Luckily for Tom, Tilly had decided that while having her belly rubbed was fine and dandy, she was more than ready to play._ "Master! Tom! Playwithmeplease? Find a stick, throw stick, I bring stick back pleaseohplease?"_ The two boys couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, and Tom was glad to drop the previous subject.

"Think she wants to play fetch?" the blonde asked, just so he didn't look suspicious.

"Probably. It's her favorite game." Josh smiled fondly at her, found a suitable stick for throwing, and hurled it as hard as he could. "Go get it, girl!" Tilly was off with the speed and focus of an arrow, a black and white streak against the green spring grass. When she brought it back she delivered it into her master's hand, then ran around in circles and exuberantly wagged not just her tail, but her entire rear end. He took too long to throw it, though, so she stood on her hind legs and planted her front paws on his shoulders. Tilly ignored his good-natured, laughing protests of "Hey, cut it out!" and knocked him to the ground, licking at his face. "Eeeew! Tilly...hahaha, Tilly, you goof, gerroff me!"

Tom couldn't help but join in the laughter. "C'mon, Tilly, get off him! Here." He reached down and took the stick that Josh had dropped and waved it near her face. Immediately she bounded off, barking madly and wriggling her excitement. "Go get it!" The boy pretended to throw the stick, leading her to run in that general direction and bark while he chuckled to himself. "You okay?"

Josh stood and brushed himself off, grinning. "Yeah, fine. That was a mean trick."

Tom handed him the stick, and Tilly came bounding back with a _"Hey not fair you tricked me, gonna get it next time!"_ Josh smiled even more broadly and threw it for real, even clapping as she caught it mid-air.

The two boys and the dog played fetch for some time before Tom had to call it quits. "Josh, that was really fun, but I have to go home and get some homework done. See you some other time?"

Joshua smiled brightly enough to rival the sun. "Sure. Thanks, Tom. See you around! Tilly, say goodbye!" The dog threw her nose into the air and made an "ai-ai" sound, tail wagging.

Tom laughed. "That's brilliant. Good girl! Bye Josh, bye Tilly!" With a friendly wave he started home, leaving the boy and his dog to play in the receding daylight.

When he was out of sight he opened his Manual, something the younger Grogan had said niggling at the back of his mind. The boy had mentioned a game that had to do with wizardry. It seemed too similar to be a coincidence. "Run a search on wizards within a half-mile radius, please. Name: Grogan, Joshua; age: between thirteen and sixteen."

After a moment one entry was left. It read:

GROGAN, Joshua D.  
84 Rose Ave.  
Hempstead, NY 11575  
(516) 555-4082 (on hiatus, rating unknown)

Tom gave the entry a long look, nodding slowly to himself. Josh's explanation about the 'games' he had played made sense. He must have rejected wizardry entirely with his head, but his heart still longed for it. The Powers must be giving him a second chance.

**Hope you enjoyed this one! It was interesting to write. Oh, by the way, Tilly is based off my aunt, uncle, and cousins' dog, an Australian sheepdog of the same name. Though not quite as amusing as the one in the story, she's a great dog, and wags her entire butt instead of just her tail. :D**


	8. Chapter 8: Dream

Okiedokie then. Sorry I took so long to update; life's been hectic with classes and tests and final exams and stuff. And I apologize that this chapter is rather short, and upsetting, and doesn't add a heck of a lot to the plot, but I think it was necessary. So without further ado, here 'tis, and please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I'm merely pushing things around in Diane Duane's Young Wizards universe. I swear, Ms. Duane, I'll clean it up when I'm done!

Chapter 8: Dream

Tom was dreaming. Had to be dreaming.

That alone wouldn't have bothered him so much. He liked to dream. Dreams let his imagination run wild, let him bend Physics to his will and fly effortlessly through the air, or dive thousands of feet below the surface of the sea without pressure or lack of oxygen being an issue. He could run forever, or have creatures chase him, or mess with biology to such an extent that the organisms in his dreams should by rights have never been able to exist, but in the world of his subconscious, centaurs and shape shifters and adorable kitten-like vampires that fed only on affection directed their way freely roamed. Yes, he liked his dreams.

This was not his dream.

He felt like a voyeur. Dreams were supposed to be private. I_ shouldn't be here, I need to leave_...it all felt so very _wrong_. Like he had been squeezed through a tube and injected into someone's mind and body, and it rubbed and itched because it didn't fit properly. But his damned curiosity kept him there, lurking guiltily in the shadows.

This dream contained a wasteland. It was barren save for a few scraggly patches of dry, dead grass and some stunted trees scattered here and there. What little water there was smelled foul, metallic, and undrinkable. In the far distance there was a flickering orange light. A fire? Who would be making a fire?

Forgetting for a moment that he was caught in a dream, Tom began to walk toward the flame. It shouldn't have been too far away, but after a long run, he didn't seem to be getting much closer.

_Probably just part of the nature of the dream_, he thought, stopping and taking a look around. He'd somehow missed the fact that he had run into the midst of a rather generic small town.

There was a noise in the distance. Tom frowned. More faint noise drifted to his ears. Wild, joyful laughter; an awful, high screeching sound; the crackling of flames. And closer, much closer, a boy crying.

He moved towards the sound of the last one. Tom had always had a soft spot for kids, and since it was the closest thing in the dream, it was the obvious choice to make. As he neared the source of the sound he began to make out words between the heartrending sobs: "I have to, I have to go, but I can't...I can't...help me, talk to me, I don't know how, please! I can't do it alone, someone help, _please_..."

The boy was small and pale with black hair. He rocked back and forth as if his world had just ended. Tom's heart went out to him; he looked about eleven or twelve. "Hey, kid, I'm here. _Dai stihó_. What's wrong?" The boy turned around quickly and stared wildly at Tom, who gasped in surprise. He'd recognize those blue, blue eyes anywhere. _"Josh?"_ he asked incredulously.

"Who's there, who is it? I don't know your voice! Please help me, I have to go help but I can't see, something terrible's happening and I don't know how to get there..."

"Josh, it's me, Tom. What do you mean you can't see...I met you a week ago, your eyes were fine." But Tom saw that while the raven-haired boy was looking in his direction, he wasn't actually looking _at_ him. Those bright blue eyes, made even brighter by helpless tears, were unfocused and unseeing.

"Tom...Tom? I don't know a Tom. How do you know my name?"

Tom was more confused than ever, and beginning to grow angry in his frustration. "I'm Tom Swale. I met you, Joshua Grogan, at the park seven days ago. We threw sticks for your dog Tilly to chase and talked about books and your brother. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about!"

_"I don't,"_ Josh said in the Speech, and Tom knew it to be true. He looked terrified and desperate. "I'm just supposed to go somewhere and help. But I don't know where, and I don't know what to do. Tom," he muttered experimentally, as if tasting the name. "Tom Swale...wait. I don't know you. But can you help me? I have a feeling that we might know each other sometime later, or you might know part of me, or something. I think I'm supposed to go with you. I think you're supposed to take me there."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Josh," Tom said, shaking his head and getting more than a little frightened. This entire situation was decidedly creepy.

"Please, you _have_ to help me," the younger teen implored, groping with his hand towards Tom. There was a giant, deep, angry cut across the wrist.

"Josh! What happened to your wrist?" Tom yelped, taking it his hand and looking for something with which to bind it. Then he took a closer look at the wound. It should have been bleeding. By rights the boy should have been bleeding to death; the flesh had been severed down to the tendon.

"I...I don't remember..." Josh said, sitting still and wincing at the contact. "It hurts, but...but I need to go somewhere..." He faltered and bit at his bottom lip. A look of fear crossed his face, then abruptly vanished. "I can't remember anything," Josh intoned in a strangely calm, monotone voice. It was more terrifying than his panic. The statement held no emotion whatsoever.

Tom felt an icy fist of fear clench in the pit of his stomach. The memory from a week ago flashed unbidden in his mind.

_'I wrote a note and tried to kill myself.'_

_'I almost managed it, too. But there was s-so much blood...'_

He shook his head and shivered from the sudden chill that had raced up his spine. "I can't help you right now, Josh," Tom told him. "I don't know what to do. But I'll try..."

Suddenly he felt himself being wrenched from the dream with Joshua's desperate, broken, terror-filled cry ringing in his ears: _"No! Don't leave me alone!"_

Tom awoke drenched in a cold sweat, his fingernails digging mercilessly into his palms. He didn't know what had just occurred, but he knew he had to figure out how to help his new friend as soon as he could.

For he knew instinctively that what had just transpired was not just a dream.

**Thank you to everyone for your reviews to this story! It really means a lot to me that you took the time out to leave feedback, and I'm overwhelmed by the positive response this thing received. And to one anonymous, extremely kind reader: I do so enjoy reading your words of praise, but alas, I don't think review bombing me would be the way to get me to update more quickly. My muse works on her own schedule, and I really have no clue how to predict when she'll swoop down and make me start chipping away at this monstrosity of a story. Trust her to make me write a novel-length piece as my very first contribution to FanFiction...**


	9. Chapter 9: On The Edge

Disclaimer: the world ain't mine. If you recognize it from somewhere other than this story, it most probably belongs to the venerable Diane Duane. *bows before greatness*

Chapter 9: On The Edge

"I just don't understand it," Tom said for the twentieth time that day. The two boys were sitting on Tom's bed. It was a Sunday; though Tom usually went to church on Sundays, he'd begged off due to sleeping extremely poorly, which was quite true. Though he was absolutely exhausted, however, he couldn't sleep; he also felt the need to talk to Carl about that crazy dream of his.

"Neither do I," Carl replied wearily. "You sure it wasn't just a dream?"

"That's not exactly what I meant. It was definitely a dream. But I know that it was significant."

"But how d'you know that?"

"Carl," Tom said, looking his partner directly in the eyes, "I've had a lot of dreams. A lot of _weird_ dreams. But I've only had a lucid dream once before, and I used it to fly around a mountain chain, not talk to a kid who was raped and tried to _kill_ himself who I'd only met a week beforehand. And I could tell that it wasn't my dream; it must've been his, because I've never felt uncomfortable without prompting from a dream before, and he was the only other person there."

"Okay, okay," the older boy said with a shake of his head and a sigh. "Just trying to make sense of things, I guess."

"You and me both." Tom let out a huge yawn, stretched to relieve some of the tension in his back, and in a move designed to keep him upright and give him a pillow at the same time, rested his head on Carl's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Carl raised an eyebrow at this. Tom had never been too physically demonstrative before, probably because anything other than a playful punch to the arm might be taken the wrong way. It was a shame; but it was also a testament to how tired he was (and how close they were as friends) that he felt the need to lean on him. So he winced in sympathy instead of jokingly shoving Tom away from him. "I knew you were tired, but not quite _that_ tired," he said from lack of anything else to say and a desire to keep Tom awake enough that he wouldn't feel guilty about fidgeting a little.

"Nnngh," came the articulate reply. "Comfy. I barely got 'ny sleep las' night. Flikcrp."

"What was that last bit?"

Tom was silent for so long that Carl thought he really had fallen asleep. Then the freshman cleared his throat quietly and whispered, more clearly this time, "I feel like crap."

"Think you're sick?" The sophomore brushed his hand against Tom's forehead. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

"Nnnooo. Not sick. Just worn out. Dead. Emotionally and physic'ly." Despite his somewhat more stable position, Tom still managed to sway and nearly fall forward off the bed.

Carl threw his arm out just in time to catch his partner's weight, dislodging Tom's head from its perch. The Tom in question made a small noise of dissent and grabbed the arm in front of him, falling back onto his pillow and dragging Carl with him. "W-what...what're you...hey!" the sophomore spluttered. "Leggo, gerroff me!" He managed to free his arm from the freshman's grip and stand up so he was no longer lying beside the other boy. If Tom had had his eyes open, he would have seen a deep scarlet flush creep across his friend's face. Carl thanked the Powers That Be that this was not the case.

Tom let his displeasure be known by frowning petulantly, eyes still tightly shut. "Nnnngh..." he whined in complaint.

"Hush now. You need your rest. I'll see if I can keep your dreaming to a minimum."

"Mm," Tom said, nodding in assent. He sighed and made a contented sound as Carl pulled the rumpled blanket over him.

"Sleep well. I think I'll be going home soon if you're napping."

"Nnnn...don' go," Tom said, opening his eyes and staring blearily at Carl. "Please?"

Carl heaved a sigh of his own. "Okay. I'll research more and see if I can find anything more about dreams, and if not I'll work on the Speech. Sound good?"

"Mmhmm." Tom burrowed under the covers, and then he said a sleep- and blanket-muffled "Voo."

"Huh? What was that, Tom?"

But there was no answer. The freshman was fast asleep.

Carl squeezed his eyes shut, fervently thanking the Powers once again for keeping Tom's own eyes closed when he'd been pulled down to the bed. The blush still burned on his cheeks and tops of his ears. He'd never quite had the courage or heart to tell Tom exactly who the guest star was in Tom's dream one week prior. Being pulled to the bed had sparked interesting, not-so-innocent memories. But it wasn't just the sex aspect of those memories. That kiss, for example...that _kiss_...

He felt a mental tug from Tom. Curious and glad of the distraction, Carl delicately followed the pull. It didn't feel like the dream a week ago had, and after hesitating for just an instant, his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, Tom needed his rest. He had to try to banish the dream so that his partner could sleep peacefully.

Carl recognized the wasteland immediately from Tom's numerous descriptions. His eyes widened. No, this definitely did _not_ feel like a normal dream, not even a nightmare.

"Carl? What're you doing here?"

The sophomore jumped, then frowned. That was weird. Why did he have a body of his own in the dream? "I'm sorry. I was curious. And I said I'd try to keep you from dreaming, and I couldn't, and it didn't feel at all like the other dream, so..."

Tom nodded curtly and winced. "I told you, I'm sorry about that. But yeah, this is different. I should _hope_ it's different. This isn't quite the ideal spot for...well, anyway. Here we are. D'you agree with me?"

"About what? Less than ideal spot for sex, or that it's important?"

"That it's important, smartass," Tom answered in exasperation, rolling his eyes and smacking his friend on the shoulder.

Carl laughed. "I'm a bad influence on you. You used to save cursing for special occasions." Then his brow furrowed. "Yeah...it does seem important." He froze, having just heard the sounds in the distance.

"I know, scary, isn't it?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not—the laughter sounds like mine. And there's fire."

Tom blanched. "You're right. How could I not have noticed that! And _why_ in the One's many names is Joshua Grogan dreaming about that?"

"Beats me. This is creepy."

"You're telling me."

"Wait. Tom, that's weird, look. That's the city skyline."

The younger of the two frowned. "That wasn't there last night. Okay, so at least we know something has to happen in Manhatt—"

The ring of the phone jolted them both awake. Tom sat up, heart pounding wildly, pupils dilated. He was practically hyperventilating. Carl fared slightly better; though his heart was thudding against his ribs, he was more used to waking up suddenly than his friend was, having used a harsh-sounding alarm clock for a few years now.

Carl chuckled. "Relax. Easy there, catch your breath. Let the phone ring. If it's important they'll call again." When Tom showed no signs of calming down, looking for all the world like a startled rabbit, Carl sat on the bed next to him and put a hand on his back. "Calm down. You're fine," he said in a voice that would have been soothing if he hadn't been struggling to hold in his laughter.

His breathing finally slowed, and with his breath came the presence of mind to look bashful. "Sorry 'bout that. I've been a little on edge lately."

The sophomore flashed him a sympathetic smile. "No problem." The phone stopped ringing, and he nodded, adding, "See? Not important. Probably some random relative of yours calling to talk about nothing."

"That sounds just like my Aunt Peggy," Tom sighed. "I love her to pieces. I really do. But she could talk for hours and hours and never actually say anything that matters." He grimaced as the phone started to ring again. "Guess you spoke too soon." The freshman got up and trudged to the source of the offending noise. "Hello, Tom Swale speaking, who is this?" His eyes widened. "Yeah, Josh, sorry I didn't pick up the first time. I was asleep and it scared the living daylights out of me."

"Oh, sorry. Um...I was wondering...can we go to the city?" Josh sounded agitated himself.

"T-to the city? Uh, sure, when?"

"I was thinking maybe now."

_"Now?_ How come?"

"I...well...I get hunches sometimes. I have a hunch that we need to be in Manhattan sometime today."

"That is so trippy," Carl said from behind Tom. He'd followed him down the stairs to the phone when he'd heard the mention of Josh's name. The freshman put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion.

"Oh, Carl's there too? Bring him along. He needs to be there too."

"W-what? Why?"

"I don't know," Josh answered, sounding like he was pacing as much as his telephone cord would allow. "But we have to be there soon. Come on, please? I'll meet you at the bus stop in twenty minutes, yeah?"

Tom looked at Carl, who'd heard the whole conversation. His eyebrows were raised so high they'd shot up into his bangs, but he was nodding slowly. "Sure...but how will you bring Tilly?"

There was a short silence on the other end, and then a grim "I won't. I can't. She can't come with me this time. Thanks. See you soon. Bye."

"Bye," Tom said as the line went dead. With a shaking hand he put the phone back on its hook. "'Trippy' isn't quite the right word," he said quietly. "This is _way_ past trippy. I just realized that I never told him your name. He never met you. How in the world did he recognize your voice?"

Carl's eyes widened, then he squeezed them shut. "Oh shit."

"Yeah. He must've been in that dream somewhere." Tom was ash-pale, and there were circles under his eyes from lack of decent sleep. "Do you have that icy claw of dread in the pit of your stomach that so many books talk about?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Funny, so do I." His voice sounded too calm, like he was forcing it on himself. "I always thought the authors were exaggerating, but I guess not."

"Come on," Carl said quietly. "Let's get our manuals. We'll be late."

Tom nodded mechanically and began the journey back to his room.

"Wait, Tom..." The sophomore's voice sounded unusually grave.

"Yeah?"

"I need you to promise me...promise me that if anything happens to me, you'll go on with your life. Don't be like Mr. Kolibri. Entropy is bad, but it's also kind of needed in the world, now that it's already there. It's change. Without change there's no growth. So...promise?"

Tom nodded, surprised by this paradoxically awkward display of eloquence. With a lump in his throat, he merely whispered, "Same for me?"

The dark-haired boy nodded as well, and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "And you were supposed to be the articulate one."

In a meek voice, almost as if he was afraid to be so bold, Tom asked, "Can I have a hug?" For answer, Carl wordlessly walked over and wrapped his arms around his partner, who did the same in return and sighed. Tom stood there for a moment, allowing himself to revel in the warmth and solidity his friend provided. He raised his hands. Paused with them a few inches from Carl's face. "May I?" he asked. At the other boy's nod, he traced his eyebrows with his thumbs. Tom ran his pointers over Carl's ears as his thumbs moved lower to brush against his cheekbones, then up again, then lightly down the straight line of his nose. Then along his jaw, finally ending with a feather-light touch at his lips. He was memorizing his friend's face, not just by sight, but by feel as well. On an impulse he cupped Carl's face in his hands and moved his own head close. Once again he stopped inches away, eyes questioning, giving the other every chance to protest or pull away.

He didn't. Tom pressed his lips against Carl's in a soft, chaste kiss. There were no sparks; no fireworks lit their minds. It was serious and tender, an expression of love without passion; and while not rushed, it was quiet and quick and simple. Tom pulled back and gave a half-smile at Carl's thoughtful nod, then laid his forehead against his partner's. _Thank you,_ he said, even his mental voice quiet.

_For what?_ Carl seemed genuinely puzzled. When Tom looked at him incredulously, the sophomore shook his head. "Don't thank me. It wasn't a favor." Before Tom could ask what that cryptic statement meant, he sighed, then regretfully drew away. "Come on," he said gently. "I hate to kill the mood, but we're going to be late."

Tom took a deep breath and nodded resolutely. "You know this is probably our Ordeal, right?" he asked. They had read up on Ordeals, but the Manual had been vague, just saying that each wizard was created to solve a specific problem. "Wonder what we're supposed to do?"

"Dunno. But Josh has something to do with it. And what about those dreams? But isn't he not a wizard anymore, or something?"

"No, he's still in the Manual. It says he's 'on hiatus', but he's still a wizard, even though he doesn't know it...wait a minute." Tom frowned, heading back to his room to pick up the book that had gotten him into this. "I know he tried to kill himself, almost certainly by cutting his wrist. Last night I saw a twelve- or thirteen-year-old Josh with a cut wrist. He was blind. Wizardry does not live in the unwilling heart, but it's not his _heart_ that's unwilling, it's his _mind_..."

"This blind Josh was trying to find something. Something about having to help. Going to the source of the sounds—"

"—which we found out today was Manhattan. The real Joshua doesn't know why he's going, but the dream-Josh knows he has to help. And now we're going to Manhattan. Bringing Josh with us. Do you think we...?"

"Do I think we what, Tom?" Carl looked baffled by the entire thing.

Tom's expression went from concentrated to helplessly, bleakly amused. "Great. Wonderful. The only answer that fits is absolutely insane."

"What? What is it?"

The freshman dropped his head into his hands and laughed weakly. "I think last night I was talking to his wizardry, and we have to find a way to get him to be a proper wizard again."

Carl made a sound that was half groan, half chuckle. "You're right. That _is_ insane. And because it's so crazy, that just might be what happened, and what we're supposed to do." Then he sobered. "But why the fire? And why was I laughing?"

"Good question," Tom answered briskly, grabbing his Manual and putting it into the nifty otherspace pocket he'd made after going to the park and having it be visible. It was such a hassle to have to carry it around all the time.

The two boys walked to the bus stop in silence. Josh was already there, even though they were early. He looked so lost and vulnerable without his faithful dog. The raven-haired boy looked up and ran over to them. "Oh, thank you for coming, I know it sounded crazy, but we have to be there today, I just know it. Look how terrible the traffic is, we'll never make it at this rate, the streets are all clogged up—"

Tom put a hand on his shoulder to stop his babbling. "Take it easy, Josh. We know we have to be here too."

"What...? You do? But how'd you and Carl—"

"Hi," said Carl, looking amused. "I'm Carl. I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I also don't believe I've even met you before."

Josh looked shaken; his mouth opened and closed as if he was a giant, humanoid halibut. "I...I didn't realize...I mean, I'm sorry, I don't know how..."

"Your dreams told you, didn't they?" Tom asked knowingly. "You knew him from a dream you had today. Am I right?"

Now Josh could only stare and nod, speechless.

"Yeah, I don't know how you managed it either," Carl said dryly. Then he took a breath and squared his shoulders. "Best get this over with..._Dai stihó,_ cousin. We are on errantry and we greet you."

**Yeeheeheehee! Oooh, the plot is picking up! After a run of shorter chapters, I thought it was time for this thing to finally make an appearance. I admit, the kiss took me by surprise, but they wanted something that wasn't mushy or romantic and that didn't change their relationship at all (yet).**

**Also, please don't hate me for the cliffhanger ending, but if I hadn't put the chapter break there you all would've had to wait longer for the next chapter.**

**Oh. I also changed the rating from M to T. I was originally going to have this have a decent amount of smut; now I'm rather leery of writing that, mostly because I'd forgotten that the characters are _14 and 15._ Um no. SO what I might do to satisfy those people who want to see the sexual tension between these two be resolved is finish this story without anything too graphic, and write an M-rated sequel that's a few years down the road.**

**Also I may get more reads this way. *shifty eyes***


	10. Chapter 10: Fire

Disclaimer: the people/things/ideas you recognize from elsewhere belong to Diane Duane.

Chapter 10: Fire

Josh's pale features tightened. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me." For the first time since he'd met him, Tom saw Josh get angry. His bright eyes flashed. "I _trusted_ you, Tom! What kind of joke is this!"

"If it were a joke, how would we know the exact words, huh?" Tom attempted to reason with him.

"Come on," said Carl. "You're right. Public transportation sucks. Let's go a faster route, if you're so sure that time is of the essence."

"Faster? What do you mean?"

Tom grabbed the boy's arm and took them to a rather secluded grove of trees, ignoring Josh's protests. Finally the boy yelled, "Tom, let _go_ of me!" His eyes were wide and terrified.

Tom felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't considered what painful memories that might bring up. He immediately released the kid's arm as if he'd been branded by the shout and backed up a couple of steps. "I'm sorry, Josh, I wasn't thinking. But you know wizardry's real. We're just going to the city the fast way. Maybe it'll jolt your memory."

Carl was quickly writing the spell with a finger in the leaves, and the flowing Speech glowed faintly blue, humming with the power of creation. "C'mon, Josh. Your name's got to have changed since the last time you wrote it. Date of birth? Favorite color? Favorite novel? Favorite animal?"

Josh absentmindedly rattled off the answers, staring with some confusion at the jumble of script that was appearing on the ground.

"Do you remember?" Tom asked quietly, writing his own name in the space Carl had left for it and entering the coordinates for an unused alley.

The black-haired boy just stared. First skeptically, then with a flicker of surprise, then a dawning recognition that lit his eyes from within. Suddenly he said, almost in a whisper, "I'll write my own name."

Broad grins appeared on Tom's and Carl's faces as they stood back. Josh looked at the patterns and mouthed the syllables without speaking them aloud, slowly at first, then with increasing confidence as he looked over the spell. He found where his name would go and started to fill it in. The partners were amazed by how fluidly and gracefully he wrote; but they realized his mind and body were merely remembering at long last what his heart had never forgotten.

Josh took a deep breath and looked around, as if for the first time. "I can't believe I forgot about that," he said wonderingly, glancing at the trees and the grass and the leaves and smiling, because he could hear them again.

On a whim, Tom checked his Manual for Joshua D. Grogan's listing. He was no longer "on hiatus"; furthermore, the numbers listed for his rating made the boy's eyes widen. "Josh, Carl, look at this."

"Holy shit," said the two almost in unison when they saw.

"No wonder the Lone One wanted you out of commission," Carl said in awe. Josh kept staring, not quite able to believe it. "Think our Ordeal's done?"

"Let's check," Tom suggested, flipping to his own listing. He frowned. "No, it still says we're on our Ordeal. Huh."

"Um, guys?" Josh piped up. "We still have to go to Manhattan. There's something we need to do there. I don't know what, but I know it's important, and my gut's telling me we need to hurry."

"Right," Carl said decisively. "Then let's go."

"A moment," Josh said, going through the spell and making a few minor changes to air and space displacement. "Just so we go unnoticed," he said by way of explanation, then stood back with a small smile. "Now it's ready. Shall we?"

The three of them nodded and began to read the spell together. The hairs stood up on the back of Tom's neck. The wind stilled; the trees stopped their rustling and seemed to lean in. The world quieted and listened to the words that would bend time and space, becoming convinced that the natural order could be bent, just this once, in exchange for a certain amount of energy...

At the final word of the spell they felt the air collapse around them. For a split second they couldn't breathe; then they were in a dim alley, and air rushed into their lungs. They had arrived with barely a sound.

"Nice," Tom said between panting breaths to Josh, marveling at how cleanly they had landed.

He shrugged and smiled. The boy was barely breathing hard. "It was one of my specialty spells," he said modestly. "I guess I got pretty good at it. I used to be able to teleport silently, but it gets harder when you have more people."

"You can always tell you're in the city," Carl observed dryly once he had caught his breath, "by all the car horns you hear. But this is even worse than usual."

The three of them walked to the entrance of the alley. "No wonder. Traffic's awful today. Look, they're barely moving," Tom added. Then he looked expectantly at Josh. "Now where to?"

Joshua closed his eyes and bit his lip, turning slowly. "I think we should move that way," he said at last, pointing roughly east.

"That's convenient. We can stay on the sidewalk and just go straight," Tom said. "What're we waiting for?"

The three started walking again. They had gone sixteen blocks when Josh's nose twitched. Carl and Tom would've laughed if he hadn't said, "Guys, d'you hear something?"

They listened. Their eyes widened. They did indeed hear something—the sound of firetruck sirens wailing. The recognized it immediately from the dream and broke into a run. When they looked into the sky, a thin curl of black smoke guided them to where they should go. Soon they could hear and see the flame itself, as well as the yells and cries of pedestrians desperate to find a way to keep the conflagration from spreading.

"The trucks'll never make it in time," Josh panted. "The traffic's terrible, nobody's moving. They're packed too tightly."

Tom noticed the wild gleam in Carl's eyes. His own eyes widened. "Carl, no, you can't, I know you're good with fire but that one's too big!"

"I have to try, don't I?" he said, with an almost dreamy quality to his voice and a small smile playing on his lips.

"What's going on?" Josh looked thoroughly confused—well, as confused as he could look with panic creeping in on the edges of his expression.

Keeping up with Carl, Tom explained in a rush. "He can get fire to listen to him, but it's terrifying. He showed me once with a little alcohol fire. This one's too big! He'll get carried away, it's too much power he has to use, he's obsessed!" He realized he was babbling and closed his mouth.

Josh's expression was grim. "Then we'll just have to lend him some power, won't we? We can't let the fire spread."

Tom saw nothing for it. He gulped and nodded. "Guess so. Carl?" he said. Carl was walking slowly now, still with that terrifyingly calm expression. He didn't answer. "Carl!" the blond-haired boy practically screamed to be heard over the crackling flames.

Still no answer.

_CARL!_ he yelled with as much mental force as he could muster. Finally his partner did turn around._ We're going with you. You can't hold the flames by yourself. Make sure we don't get burned?_

_Yeah, of course. Come on, we have to let it burn itself out._ With that he started a stream of words in the Speech and, taking Tom and Josh by the shoulders, steered them inside and through the wall of fire. His steps were sure and confident, even taking on a bounce. Carl let out a wild, free peal of laughter that made Tom doubly determined to not let him get lost in the flames. He knew his partner was flirting with danger every time he got the fire to dance under his will. Failure now would be...

He couldn't even think it.

Walking through the mass of heat should have hurt. It should have burned them all to a crisp. But it didn't; Carl was weaving sentences in the Speech to keep them alive and unharmed. It was eerie. All of his instincts told Tom to run, screaming, from the building. Instead, he swallowed his fear and pressed on.

Surprisingly, the inside of the building wasn't nearly as bad as the outside. In fact, there were only a few smoldering embers here and there, and the undamaged parts looked very sound. Josh looked confused and suspicious; Tom felt the same way. Why wasn't this place a charred hulk? Then he brushed it off. Carl was fast using his reserves of strength.

"Josh, you ready? Can you feed him power next?"

The boy nodded resolutely. Tom breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted to be able to jump in if Josh looked like Carl was taking too much power. The more experienced wizard concentrated and created a link between Carl and himself; then he looked surprised. "It's not that bad," he told Tom, puzzled.

"You're also an insanely powerful wizard," Tom retorted dryly, then went on to brace the ceiling and the walls so they wouldn't come crashing down on them. Or if they did, it would buy them enough time to get out of the way.

With nothing left to do, the blonde wizard watched his partner in awe laced with a healthy dose of fear. Carl had a beatific expression on his face, his hands and face turned to the fire. He was doing it. He was convincing the flame to burn what it had already burned, and not to go out to those nasty people who would make the beautiful smoke so oily and disgusting. He told it to burn hot and bright, to flicker and make patterns, to send its heat out and make the air shimmer around it. _Beautiful,_ he praised it, and Tom knew he was speaking the truth. It _was_ beautiful in its own way. Harsh and fierce and wild and beautiful. It flared brighter, pleased with the compliment, almost preening.

Then came a shriek from Josh, as well as a psychic ripping sound. Carl's concentration faltered for an instant; heat surged around them, then subsided as he took up the slack, showering the fire with compliments and reasons to char already-charred material. Tom instinctively knew what had happened. The link between Josh's power and Carl's had broken. But why?

He looked over to where Josh was. The boy had fallen to the floor and was rocking himself back and forth, holding his knees, trembling like a leaf. A mumbled "No, stay away, no, please...leave me alone, please no..." poured out of his mouth in a constant stream. Tears began to trickle from his eyes.

On the other side of the room stood a tall man dressed in a dark suit. He had pale skin and shockingly red hair, and he was smiling slightly. Tom started. _How'd he get in here without us seeing him?_ And what was wrong with Josh?

"Well, well," said the newcomer in a pleasant tone. "What a happy little gathering we have here."

Tom's stomach clenched. The voice was deep and rich, like molten chocolate against his ears. But there was something wrong. It had a boiling undercurrent of pure, dark malice.

"And aaahh yes. Thank you for bringing Joshua here along. I see he remembers me." The man walked with sure steps toward the shaking boy, who squeezed his eyes shut. His trembles turned to shudders as the man knelt before him. When he brushed his hand oh-so-gently against his cheek, Josh involuntarily cried out and backed against the wall, scrambling to get as far away from him as possible. In his haste he hit his temple on one of the building's supports. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed. The man merely laughed. "Such a sweet young thing," he said, almost indulgently.

"Fairest..." Tom whispered, his throat suddenly gone dry. He cleared it and glared. "Fairest and Fallen, Greeting and Defiance." The young wizard strove to mask his terror with anger. It worked a little bit; he could at least think. Somewhat.

The Lone Power stood and rolled his eyes. "You wizards can be so _boring_ sometimes," he said disdainfully. "So. I have a little proposition for you. Instead of just crushing you where you stand—for what would be the fun in that?—I'll play a little game." He grinned. It would have been charming on anyone else. "I'll let you stand here for precisely three minutes. I'll even hold the fire for you. You can make whatever useless plans you'd like; then I'll come back and squash you like the annoying little wizarding bugs you are. It'll be so much more fun once you've squirmed here for a while, knowing there's no hope. Or will you just give up? You could, you know. You could leave. I won't stop you. But just think of all those poor people you'd doom to die because of it." He laughed and walked into the fire. "Have fun! And your clock starts...now!"

The partners wasted five precious seconds just staring speechlessly at each other. Then Carl got a determined expression on his face. "We're not quitting," he said, and there was steel in his voice. "We're not letting the fire spread to the other buildings."

Tom shook his head, then ran to the fallen wizard. "Josh?" he called, taking him by the shoulders and shaking the boy roughly. "Josh. Can you hear me?" There was no answer. Heart in his throat, he felt for Joshua's pulse on his wrist, and almost cried with relief when he found it. "He's alive!"

"But we can't take him anywhere. We don't know his name in the Speech." Carl's words were an unwelcome reminder that their situation was grim.

For a fleeting instant Tom entertained the notion that he and Carl could leave together and no one would be the wiser. Then he banished the treacherous thought. "Guess we'll have to stay and hold the flames as long as we can," he whispered.

Carl's eyes darkened. "That won't do any good. It'd only be a matter of time before our power ran out." He started to draw up a teleportation spell, speaking as he did so. "You have to go for help. I can hold out here for a little while longer. It'll at least give us a chance."

"What!" Tom cried. "No! I can't leave you here! I won't do it!"

"You don't have a choice!" Carl snapped, showing that flash of temper that meant he was desperate. "This is our only chance. Write in your name."

Tom did so, numb with shock and fear. It couldn't end like this. It couldn't! Was there no justice in the world?

Carl's voice softened after Tom had finished. "Remember your promise," he said, the sorrow and, yes, acceptance plain in his eyes. Then the took the younger boy's face in his hands and kissed him. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was harsh; it was rough; bruising, fierce, pure defiance. Then the sophomore shoved his partner hard towards the glowing spell. "I love you. Now _go._" And with that, he turned away from Tom, talking to the flames again.

Tom spoke the words of the teleportation spell, tears running down his cheeks. As he did, the Lone Power walked through the wall of fire; even the sense of the universe listening could not block the delighted grin directed his way and the terrifying, gently amused words: "Well, my dear boy, I am afraid you've run out of time."

And then the wizardry took hold and hurled him into nothingness.

**Okay, dear readers. Please don't hate me after that chapter. Do you really think I'd be so cruel as to kill off the characters and change what happens in the actual series? Well, maybe I am that cruel. But not in this particular story. I promise you, all is not lost! This is not an alternate universe interpretation where they never become Advisories.**

**I had this scene planned out for a while now, ever since...was it chapter three? Oh, sure, the details changed a lot. But there was always going to be a fire in Manhattan. And I think there was always going to be that particular kiss. I'm not sure I'm totally happy with it; please let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11: No Time

Disclaimer: no matter how much I wish it were, the world and the recognizable characters are not mine, but in fact are Diane Duane's.

Oh, I am sorry for keeping you waiting, dear readers. It was cruel of me, but I wanted you to wallow in suspense for a little while, about a week. Then real life decided to throw a hissy fit and become busy, and Tom and Carl didn't want to cooperate. I do hope this is worth the wait. It's a bit shorter than I'd hoped, but ah well—you'll see more soon enough. Enjoy!

Chapter 11: No Time

Tom Swale arrived with a pop back in Hempstead, stumbling a little since he wasn't nearly as good at teleportation as Josh. Everything was quiet; the trees rustled slightly in the breeze. It was startlingly normal after those few minutes of wizardry and flame.

Didn't the world realize it was ending?

Well, that might be a little dramatic. The entire world itself wasn't ending, of course. But Tom's might as well be. His best friend and partner, whom he loved and who apparently loved him in return, was about to be killed by the Lone Power. His second closest friend who had only just rediscovered his wizardry was lying unconscious. Tom had a sickening feeling that the Lone One _wouldn't_ kill him on the spot. A merciful death for Joshua Grogan? Not a chance. From the boy's reaction to the redheaded man, Tom knew he could only be one person—the one who had practically destroyed his life, the one who had almost caused him to lose magic forever: Josh's rapist. And with an awful certainty he knew that if he didn't get help soon, as in within the next minute or so, the bright young boy who had just regained his confidence and love for life would be broken again and left to burn alive while the Power merely looked on and laughed.

The thought made him want to retch. It was too painful to contemplate. By some huge effort of will he managed to keep the contents of his stomach inside his body.

Tom felt like he needed to scream, or cry, or strangle a Power with his bare hands, or curl up into a ball and hide. It was all too confusing, happening too fast. He did none of those, but merely stood in numb shock, his mind yelling at him. _I need more time! I can't have run out, no, Josh...CARL...I love you, I love you, I love you, please, a little longer..._ His heart beat wildly against his ribs as tears finally made their ponderous way down his face. _I just need more time._

Then he fiercely wiped the tears away. He was doing Josh and Carl no good whatsoever by just standing there and weeping. He had to do something. At the very least he could make sure the flame remained contained. It's what they'd gone to do, wasn't it? He could go to Mr. Kolibri and ask for help. But how would he make it in time?

Mr. Kolibri. _Time._ His mind caught and tripped over the word, slowing his thoughts. Tom thought back to Physics class, of all things.

_"I don't suppose you know what Einstein contributed to the scientific community?"_

_"He came up with the theory of general relativity; basically, everything moves relative to the space-time continuum, or that space and time are really the same thing."_

If space and time were really one and the same...

Tom's brain still moved slowly, thinking it through to its logical conclusion.

He could teleport, he knew that with certainty.

The thought unfurled, bringing with it a wild, desperate hope.

If he could teleport, and if space and time were one and the same, didn't it stand to reason that he could travel through time as well? After all, time travel would be just glorified teleportation.

Tom Swale's heart continued to beat quickly, but he was no longer helpless. The Lone Power had said that he'd run out of time. Well then...he'd just have to _make_ time.

He reached into his otherspace pocket and pulled out his manual decisively. It was worth a try. Since they would definitely die if he didn't take action, somehow the danger of what he was about to do didn't faze him one bit. He was young. He had respectable reserves of power at his disposal. And if it wasn't enough, he could make it a blank check spell.

Tom's mind was made up.

With a stick he drew the diagram for a teleportation spell, then wrote in the proper symbols in the Speech. He checked and rechecked his numbers and name, mouth in a thin line. It would take a _lot_ of energy. Much more than just a simple jump in space. He couldn't afford to fail, so he wrote a figurative blank check and tied it in. Then he realized with a jolt that he couldn't just ask to go back in time; that would leave him stranded in outer space. Tom hastily blotted out the old parameters and wrote in the new ones: he wrote in the location on the earth's surface, as well as the angular location in spacetime relative to the sun on the planet's orbit, tying everything together with a wizard's knot When he finished he stood back, absentmindedly brushing off the thin sheen of sweat that had collected on his forehead, and surveyed his handiwork.

What he saw made his stomach clench with nerves. It had taken him a full fifteen minutes to write out the spell, even though he was fast with the written form of the Speech. The diagram took up approximately thirty square feet. He'd only been able to give himself forty-five minutes of time. By the time he got to where—well, when—he was headed, he'd have at most twenty-five minutes to get help and get back to the building. Twenty-five minutes. That was all.

Tom quashed his anxiety with a mental stomp. It would do him no good. After checking the spell one last time, he stood at the beginning of the flowing script and started to grimly read. _"This is a temporospatial claudication..."_ he began in the Speech, and the universe bent in to listen.

Step by step he built the spell. The fourteen-year-old identified what he expected to do and where and when he expected to go. _"From this point forth I shall refer to the version of myself that goes back in time as Tom 2 and the reality thereof as Reality 2; and the version of myself up to the point this spell is completed shall be called Tom 1, and the reality thereof shall be called Reality 1. Reality 2 shall begin precisely 45 minutes prior to the point in spacetime when this spell is completed at the spatial coordinates Earth 40 degrees 40 minutes 51.63 seconds North, 73 degrees 36 minutes 55.79 seconds West; Sol 302 degrees 82 minutes 29.5462 seconds. When Reality 2 begins, Reality 1 and Reality 2 shall coexist and overlap, with no changes being made to Reality 1 unless Tom 2 wreaks them. These changes shall become part of Reality 2. When Tom 2 returns to the spatial coordinates Earth 40 degrees 47 minutes North, 73 degrees 57 minutes West, Reality 2 and Tom 2 shall replace Reality 1 and Tom 1. Both Reality 1 and Tom 1 shall cease to exist at that point."_

Tom then went on to detail the payment of the spell, feeling slightly ill while doing so. This wasn't a big wizardry. It was a _huge_ wizardry. It would take an enormous amount of energy to pay off. But he needed it done now, and he needed to have the reserves to teleport backup to Manhattan to save Josh and Carl.

Finally the spell was finished. There was a moment when he hung suspended in the universe and the deafening silence closed around him; and then suddenly he was flung backwards, being squeezed and stretched impossibly, unable to breathe.

A split second later Tom landed, clutching his chest and fighting for air. This time he did retch, quietly losing his lunch into a nearby trash can. Then he looked at the sky and saw that, to his perspective, the sun had moved eastward. He set his watch to forty-five minutes behind and waited for his wheezing to subside. At long last it did so, and though his legs were tired and he still felt ill from traveling back in time, he was able run for help. Before he did so, he looked at the face of his watch, his mouth tightening.

Twenty-three minutes.

**Sorry, it's a cliffhanger yet again. But really, can you blame me? It's building up to the climax of the story! I have to inspire tension and suspense somehow, otherwise the climax will be like walking into a wall instead of the ever-faster building of a giant wave that comes crashing down!**

**Also, I did do my research. Hempstead, NY really is at those coordinates, and Manhattan is indeed at the ones listed for it. He didn't need more precision for Manhattan because when he goes back to the building he'll be inside the error bounds. But for Hempstead he wanted to stay in exactly the same place so he can immediately go where he needs to go and not stop to get his bearings. I kind of made up the solar coordinates, but since it'd be very early November or so, I think they're reasonable—with 0 degrees being, of course, the position of the Earth relative to the Sun at 12:01 AM on January 1st of that year.**

**I'd quite appreciate it if y'all check my wording on the spell. I wanted to give an idea of the complexity of going back in time, but I still wanted it to be right and possible to word it like that. If you see a loophole or a flaw in my logic, please please PLEASE comment on it so I can fix it!**

**Thank you muchly! **


	12. Chapter 12: Change

Okidokie. We're comin' down the home stretch with this story, folks. But never fear! With this one out of the way I can write a sequel! :D Anyway, I hope you enjoy this latest installment. It's a longer one. FInally.

Chapter 12: Change

The freshman started off at a jog. He knew from experience that no matter how much he longed to sprint and get help quickly, it wouldn't help; he would just be exhausted and have to waste precious time catching his breath. He didn't even know where he was going, just that he needed to find people who would be willing and able to provide aid. There was only one person who seemed a likely candidate.

Tom stopped running for a moment and retrieved his Manual from the extradimensional pocket, already breathing hard. He needed to come up with a plan, and though he chafed at the delay, it would save both time and energy in the long run. The boy hurriedly flipped to the listings of wizards in the area, his fingers shaking and fumbling with the pages from nerves. "Kolibri. Listing for last name Kolibri in a fifty-mile radius." The Manual complied, and after a few seconds showed three results. The blonde's eyebrows rose at the listing for his physics teacher. Apparently the man was the Area Advisory. It made him think twice about involving him...

But hadn't he told him that Tom could talk to him about anything at all? And this was important business. Maybe it would be best to leave a message through the Manual so he could see who else he could possibly ask, since bringing one more person, while making some difference, might not be enough.

"Urgent message for Area Advisory Rick Kolibri," he said to the open book, his throat dry. He tried to speak clearly and more slowly than his mind wanted him to. "I am on Ordeal with Carl and newly reinstated wizard Joshua Grogan. It's in Manhattan. They're trying to contain a huge flame so it doesn't spread and hurt anyone, but the Lone Power is there, and It's trapped them. Well, It will...I did a kind of time thing, like an alternate reality. I have to be back in exactly 19 minutes. Please help me. End of message. Send."

Tom looked around and took a deep breath to stop himself from trembling. It wouldn't do any good to get back before the time was up, otherwise he'd end up creating a paradox. _That_ much his science-fiction and fantasy books had taught him: he had to be sure to create a stable time loop so that the new reality would smoothly patch the old one.

But none of it would do any good whatsoever if he couldn't get enough help for Carl and Josh. _Who else? Who else'd help...?_ With a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he thought of one other person who, though not a wizard, might be just the extra force needed to tip the scales in their favor. If he didn't kill him first.

"The Powers help me," he breathed, sealed the Manual back in its pocket, and took off running toward Rose Avenue. It was close, but his pace caused the air to sear his lungs and his legs to burn with effort. Still he didn't dare slow down. He'd need time for this, and time was exactly what he didn't have. Another alternate reality would drive him crazy or kill him on the spot. Probably both.

_Seventy-eight...eighty...eighty-two...here we go. Eighty-four. God help me._ With his heart hammering in his throat from exertion, adrenaline, and nerves, he nevertheless struggled to put a pleasant expression on his face as he walked up the path to the front door. How he was going to get through _this_ one he had no idea.

Tom rang the doorbell and waited, face schooled into a slight smile even though he wanted to scream and yell and snatch his friends from harm.

A dog barked excitedly inside, followed by a woman's voice. "No, Tilly, get back, you silly girl! _Back_, I said. Now _sit_. Stay. That's a good girl." The door opened and the woman's eyes widened slightly. "Hello, Tom! This is a surprise. I'm sorry, Josh isn't here right now. He wanted to go to New York. Would you like to come back later?"

"Hello, Mrs. Grogan, good to see you. Actually, I was here to see Jacob. Is he around?"

"Oh, you know Jake?"

_His fist knows my ribs_ very _well_. "Yes, ma'am. May I speak with him, please? It's kind of important." _That must've been the understatement of the century._ He itched to go, to actually do something and not waste time on pleasantries. Fourteen minutes. Fifteen at the most, and then the Lone One would laugh and watch his Carl burn, and burn, and burn...

"Tom? Are you all right?" Susan Grogan was looking at him strangely. She looked a bit worried.

Though he hated to lie, Tom put on his best smile and gave the only acceptable response to the question. "Yes'm, I'm fine, thank you. Do you want me to walk Tilly for you? She seems a little jumpy with Josh gone." _Gone, burned and gone, gone forever...NO_. The young wizard roughly shoved the thought from his mind and kept his expression from wavering.

"That would be lovely," said the lady, smiling with relief. "I'll just get her leash. She's been a right mess, moping around all the time. Here you go, you little monster...no, I said _sit_." Josh's mother finally managed to get the leash around her neck and gave the human's end to Tom. "Good luck with her. I'll just tell Jake to meet you out here."

"Thanks, Mrs. Grogan," he said with a smile that disguised his utter terror at how this meeting might go. Tilly cut off all further conversation by pulling at him, practically choking herself. The woman laughed and shut the door.

_"MasterMasterMaster where is he?"_ Tilly barked and whined at him. _"Something's wrong, have to save him, Tom, HELP ME SAVE HIM..."_

_"I will help you. I know something's wrong. But we have to wait. He'll be okay for a little while. I just need to get Master's brother and someone else."_

Tilly, the laid-back, friendly sheepdog, actually glared at him.

He looked pleadingly back at her. _"Trust me!"_ he said in the Speech._ "And hold on. I have to check my Manual. Please sit. I know where he is; you don't. I want to help him as much as you do, but we have to wait."_

Reluctantly, the dog sat, looking morose now. Tom retrieved the book again and flipped it open. It was blinking. He had a new message. His fingers started shaking as he found the page. He nearly cried with relief when he read it.

_I will help. Contact me mind-to-mind if you can and tell me where I'm meeting you._

He'd never done this before with anyone but Carl, but it seemed to be the same principle. Tom expanded his consciousness and found the older wizard. _Behind 77 Rose Avenue there's a bit of woods and a clearing,_ he said hurriedly. _Wait for me there. I'll be there soon. Thank you._

After receiving an affirmative response he broke the contact, sitting on the curb and putting his head in his hands. Tilly whined and nosed him.

They heard the door open and shut, followed by footsteps. From inside the house came the sound of a running vacuum cleaner. Susan Grogan wouldn't hear him if he yelled for help. Great. Just great. With a deep breath he stood and turned around.

Despite the circumstances, the shock on Jacob's face nearly made him laugh aloud. He was glad he didn't, though, as the surprise quickly turned into anger. "What are you doing here?" Grogan said, advancing menacingly on the freshman.

"Please, Jacob—"

"Come to laugh at me for getting suspended, huh?"

"No, of course not—"

"I should've killed you when I had the chance!" he growled, grabbing Tom by the throat.

Before the grip could tighten to much, the blonde wheezed out, "It's about Joshua! Stop, let go of me!"

He didn't, but he did loosen his hands, though he looked no less angry. "How do you know my brother?"

"We met...in the park..." he gasped, catching his breath. "I didn't know he was your brother until I met your mom. And he needed a friend."

"You...you..._pervert!_" he yelled, panic in his eyes. "Leave him alone, stay away from him! He doesn't need a friend. He has me. He has Tilly. He's never been the same after _your_ kind raped him! He's just a kid, _stay away from him_—"

"Would you just listen to me?" Tom shouted back. Tilly was whining in the background, her body low, not wanting to hurt Master's friend, but not wanting to challenge Master's brother either. "He's in trouble. He's in the city. There's a fire there and he's trapped in it with his _rapist!_ Let me go, he's my _friend_ and nothing more!"

Finally Jacob dropped him. The blood drained from his face. "Josh..." he whispered, and there was pain and panic and guilt in his voice.

"Follow me. I have a fast way to get there. We only have...shit. Nine minutes." The curse word made him think of Carl. The world spun around him, then reluctantly focused again as he fought down his nausea.

"There's no way to get to Manhattan in nine minutes," Jacob said flatly, mistrust starting to creep into his tone.

_"Yes there is,"_ Tom replied in the Speech, and even Grogan felt the truth in his words. "Now come _on. Tilly, find the open place in the trees over there and tell the man there that Tom's coming, okay? Go. It's to help Master. Go!"_ She twitched her tail in agreement and practically flew, her long, lithe body seeming not to touch the ground.

"I can't believe—what...how did—?"

"How'd she understand me? Did Josh ever tell you about that game he used to play, that one where he was a wizard?" Tom jogged off after her even though his knees were weak with combined relief and terror, trusting his friend's brother would follow.

He did. "Oh not _that_ again," Grogan protested in disgust.

"Yes. _That_ again. And it's real. You understood what I told Tilly. So did she."

"Who's the man waiting for you?" Jacob looked suspicious of the whole thing. "And wizardry can't be real..."

"Mr. Kolibri. He's a wizard. And don't worry about him," he snapped, somewhat bitterly, before the sophomore had a chance to respond. "He's straight. He's coming to help Josh, not rape anyone."

To Tom's utter shock, the older Grogan boy looked ashamed of himself. The look was quickly replaced by horror and a boiling rage. "I am going to _kill_ that bastard," he said quietly. "With my bare hands."

"I wish you could, but He's kind of...oh here we are."

_"I told him I told him now we have to get to Master NOW—"_

_"I know, Tilly, I'm working on it! Gimme a few minutes, then I promise you can get to him. It won't do him any good until it's eight minutes from now."_

"Tom, what in the Powers' sake happened...?"

Jacob looked at Mr. Kolibri and Tom with growing disbelief and astonishment.

Tom started to draw up the diagram to transport them directly inside the building, his hand shaking, but his voice curiously flat. "Josh was on hiatus because he was raped and then tried to kill himself, and he rejected wizardry, but he still remembered and wanted it subconsciously. I was in two of his dreams, Carl was in one, and then he said we had to go to Manhattan to be there today. We were going to go by bus, but then we got Josh to remember wizardry and reclaim it, and he's insanely powerful. Then we teleported there and found the burning building and fed power to Carl so he could control it. And _then_ the Lone Power showed up. Turns out that It was Josh's rapist. Josh got knocked out, It gave us three minutes to plan because It thought we'd be too boring otherwise, I came back to get help, and then I did this time thingy...I kind of went back in time 45 minutes, and called you and Jacob and Tilly to help out, and now here I am drawing a spell diagram."

"Time thingy." Rick's flat tone matched Tom's own. "How on earth did you get the authorization for that?"

Tom paused in his work and looked at his Advisory. "Authorization?" he queried, confused. "I just made up the spell—"

"You _made up_ a timeslide. I should've known. But how are you still standing? You should be dead on your feet!" The physics teacher drew out a wand and helped his student draw the rest of the spell and write in some of the parameters.

"Blank check." Tom's face was blank. It was only by sheer force of will that he was standing up in the first place.

"It can't be helped, sometimes," Rick said quietly, sighing sadly. Then he turned toward the dog and the other boy who were watching in awe. _"Okay. Both of you, listen up," he said in the Speech to make sure he wouldn't have to say it twice. "We're going into something very dangerous. There will be a lot of heat and fire. Stay inside the spell. When we're reading the spell, stay as still as you can so nothing happens to you. I can't guarantee you'll both stay safe, or even alive. I can't guarantee anything. Beware the Lone Power. Try to protect Josh; he's very powerful and might be our best chance at survival if he wakes up. If you don't want to go, I don't blame you, but make your choices now."_

Both dog and boy looked scared, but determined. "That bastard who did that to my brother is gonna _pay_," Jacob said, his anger chasing the fear away. Tilly stayed where she was and made a little whine in her throat.

Tom checked his watch. "Three minutes." Then he took a breath and wrote in his name as Mr. Kolibri did the same for his own. The teacher also wrote in the basic physical forms of Jacob's and Tilly's names. "I could've done that for Josh," Tom said, a lump in his throat. "But I didn't know how, I could've gotten him out, there wasn't any time—"

"Come on, Tom. That's no use. You did what you could. Read the spell with me. Tilly, Jacob, inside the circle now, and for the Powers' sake stand still."

"Who's this Lone Power you keep talking about?" asked the older Grogan boy, his voice small but curious.

The Advisory looked at him then and smiled without mirth. "Not who, but what. You would probably equate It to Satan. Luckily you'll only be fighting one of Its facets. It might still not be enough." Then he turned to Tom and began to read.

For the fourth time that day Tom found himself reading some sort of a teleportation spell. He remembered the one from the morning. Josh had been there, delighted with his rediscovery of wizardry. And Carl. _Carl_...fierce, determined Carl had read alongside him, his slightly Brooklyn-influenced Speech twining itself with his own. A lump formed in Tom's throat, but he held his emotions at bay, maintaining the flow of power, getting caught in the bending of the universe itself. And Jacob and Tilly were quiet, and they watched with awe as the spell began to take hold. And then, as the final word was said, the final syllable pronounced, the four were deposited into a room of ash and flame.

**Heh heh heh. Don't hate me for not making Jacob Grogan evil. He's just really protective of his kid brother is all.**

**Oh yeah, and I just read _The Book of Night With Moon,_ the book by Diane Duane with kitty wizards! That's how I realized that you need an authorization for a timeslide. Whoops. So I made it a loophole here, he didn't have to get it authorized because he made it up. And no, he didn't make up the _concept_ of a timeslide. This particular method of creating one was just different enough that the Powers That Be haven't put a condition on it yet.**


	13. Chapter 13: Time

Chapter 13: Time

**Disclaimer: I'm just mucking around in the world. I don't own it, sadly. Diane Duane does.**

**Author's Note: I am really really sorry for how long this has taken. I don't know if I've ever written a dramatic climax for a story like this before, so I was kind of dreading it, to be honest. I can do buildup, I can do setting and character development and stuff, but having stuff actually happen for an exciting and satisfying climax is hard. I had things that I wanted to happen that I wasn't sure I would be able to make work. Finally, though, I had to bite the bullet and write it already. Thank you all for your patience, and please don't be too harsh on me! Critiques are very welcome, because otherwise I won't improve!**

* * *

"That may be," came Carl's voice, tight and low. "I probably have run out of time. But the least I can do is make it difficult for you."

The Lone Power lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow eloquently and rolled his eyes. "The little wizard thinks he can save the world all by himself. How heroic."

"Or buy time," the boy replied reasonably. His face was pale and drawn and he was trembling from the effort of keeping the fire at bay and the shields up.

"Wizards," It scoffed, talking about the creatures into which the One had stored power in the same tone that one might describe foot fungus. "You'll be more use to the world if you save yourself now."

"And abandon Josh? Not a chance!"

"Of course not. How silly of me. The little hero nobly stands guard over his fallen friend. I don't even have to _do_ anything; you're young and powerful, but even you will soon...burn out." It had a wicked, wolflike grin on Its face. "Which makes it so easy for me. I just wait until you go up in smoke, and Josh is mine anyway. He wasn't quite as boring as you, you know. At least he was clever enough to survive his Ordeal. But I paid him back for that." The fallen Power's eyes hooded over, glinting gleefully at the rage that Carl tried so hard to hide. "Revenge might be petty, but in that case it was delicious—"

Suddenly the Lone Power was knocked backwards by a growling, snarling mass of lean muscle and glossy fur. Her normally perked ears were flat against her skull. Teeth bared, she lunged for the throat of the man who had hurt her Master—

—and was promptly thrown backwards, landing hard on her side. She rose again, hackles bristling, lips curling back to display an impressive set of teeth.

Tom, Mr. Kolibri, and Jacob Grogan emerged from the flames, looking grim but determined. Carl stared at them. "But...Tom...how did you...?" He couldn't even finish the question, but stood there with his mouth agape.

Tom Swale didn't take the time to answer, but instead blasted the Power with a bolt of light that hissed through the air. It hit, and the creator of entropy fell with an exclamation of pain. Then It too stood again, the sneer gone, the only expression on Its face a snarl of pure, unadulterated hatred. "You'll pay dearly for that, wizardling," It hissed through clenched teeth.

"Of course I will." His voice was bold, though quiet from exhaustion. "But not before you do!" With that he sent another sizzling bolt across the room, advancing on the Lone One and drawing from reserves of strength he didn't know he had, distracting It from Jacob Grogan and Mr. Kolibri, who were kneeling next to the former's brother and desperately checking for a pulse. Tom shot a look at Carl and suddenly grinned. "Close your mouth, love, you look like a fish."

Carl closed his mouth with a muffled click of his teeth and shook his head at the quip. "Only you could joke at a time like this," he groused. But seeing his partner after such an impossibly short time had given him hope; he redoubled his efforts at controlling the fire that was licking at the wooden support beams.

The Lone Power gave them a glare that was black with rage, then turned his head and noticed for the first time the attempts to revive Josh. Tom caught the glance and desperately shot another bolt of light at the nemesis of Life, but It shook it off and made as if to throw something at the prone boy and the people tending to him. _Mr. Kolibri!_ Tom warned him mentally, and the teacher looked up and shielded the three in the nick of time. The ball of nothing that the Fallen had thrown exploded on impact, leaving the Advisory looking shaken. The Power screamed with rage and drew his hand back again. Feeling ill, Tom new the shield wouldn't hold this time; there was too much power in one of those weapons. It would kill all three of them on the spot.

Without warning both Tilly and Jacob threw themselves at the Lone One, this time bringing It down. She had clamped her teeth in Its throat and started to shake her head furiously, while he pummeled It as hard as he could with his fists. A second later they were both thrown backwards, landing with a sickening _crunch_ and a high, pained whimper. "No!" Tom and Carl yelled, while Rick cried out in horrified disbelief.

They did not get up.

But Josh did. "You," he said in a cold, hard voice, "will _not_ take them away from me!" With a venomous glare he pulled himself to his full height, his eyes sparkling with fury. "You will take **_nothing else_** from me, do you hear? Not my life, not my wizardry, not by _brother,_ and _NOT MY DOG!"_

Tom and Carl could only stare, speechless. Never had they imagined that the slight, good-tempered, raven-haired boy could descend into such a chilling rage. Even the Lone Power looked stunned and slightly frightened. "You know what?" he continued, hands clenched into fists. "You wanted to play with fire? Fine. We'll play." The boy opened his hands and spoke a few sharp syllables. White-hot flames funneled from the inferno and to his palms, then shot directly for the Lone One, who recoiled with a scream of pain. Tom looked over at Josh and saw that tears were trickling down his cheeks, patterning the soot and sweat with relatively clear tracks. But his voice was unwavering. "I know you'll still be everywhere, all the time, wherever I go and whatever I do. But for now, you will leave us _alone!_" He punctuated the last word with another bolt of fire. "I'm sick and tired of being terrified that you'll find me again," Josh declared, advancing on the Lone Power.

Did It actually...cower?

_He can't keep that up much longer,_ Carl said desperately to Tom. _What do we do, how do we help?_

Tom thought a moment, then replied tersely, _We can give him power._

_Bullshit. We're drained as it is._

_Look around you! Play 'find the energy source,' O great pyromancer!_ Tom snapped back, then looked at his partner apologetically.

Carl's mouth had formed a little "o" of surprise. "We'll need time," he said aloud.

Mr. Kolibri walked over to them on shaky legs. "What are you thinking of?"

"We'll draw energy from the fire and give it to Josh," Tom said grimly.

Alarmed, Rick exclaimed, "Are you mental? That could kill him!"

"We don't really have much of a choice," Carl retorted. "He's fading. If he doesn't beat the Lone Power soon we won't stand a chance and he'll die anyway."

The Advisory got a far-away look on his face, then a second later turned to the two young partners. His expression was determined and serene. "The spell that gives the most time needs beryl." Appearing to be almost in a trance, he removed his tiny platinum-and-emerald ring and set it on the ground. Rick smiled slightly, as if bemused by the workings of the universe, and said, "Build the spell. I'll take the power. Please don't argue."

"But—" Tom started to protest.

"_I'll be fine,_" the physics teacher reassured them in the Speech. "Just do it. Please." That same odd smile remained on his face as he started drawing up the diagram around the ring. Each with their own misgivings, Carl and Tom nevertheless helped construct the spell, swiftly writing in the parameters. Looking at it was frightening, because one side of it was terrifyingly open-ended; but at this point they didn't have the option of going back and tinkering with it. All three of them started to read. The flames quieted once more, Josh and the Lone One paused in their frantic struggle to annihilate the other...even the creaking of the timbers ceased to listen to the spell that was being woven. The energy from the fire, in the form of light and heat, swiftly suffused Mr. Kolibri's form, making him shine like a miniature sun in the midst of all the soot. The Lone Power's expression was one of shock and a little fear, while Josh looked on in undisguised horror.

With one last syllable the power transfer was tied off, and sounds resumed. But it was quieter than before. The flames were noticeably lower and more subdued. Rick wasted no time; still glowing, standing carefully as if he was overflowing, he said a sharp word in the Speech that brought the creator of death right in front of him. Then he clasped It by the shoulders and repeated the spell for the missile of light, putting all the power he could muster behind it.

With a bloodcurdling scream the Lone One went up in flames.

"You recognize this type of spell, don't you?" he said quietly, sadly, to the burning form he still grasped, to keep It from wreaking more destruction even as this facet was being destroyed. "It was the last one Mary used on you, twenty-two years ago. The last one she ever used. You were happy about that, weren't you? You gave us the chance to fall in love, only to kill her months later."

"You'll die!" came the screech from the Power. "You'll die if you don't let go of me!"

"True." The glow was finally fading. Rick Kolibri's legs gave out as he made one last shield, trapping It inside a bubble to burn into nothingness.

Tom ran over to his teacher and fellow wizard. He wanted to comfort him, to thank him and praise him; but the first thing that came out of his mouth was "You lied to us! You said you'd be fine, and you could've died!"

The man slowly turned his head to his student and rasped quietly, still wearing the smile, "I didn't lie. If I'd died I would've gone to Timeheart and been with my Mary again. I had nothing to lose. But you boys, and Josh—" he coughed weakly. Blood tinged the corners of his mouth, and he grimaced, but continued. "You have your whole lives to live."

Carl looked on in alarm at the flecks of blood. "Are you going to live? D'you need me to heal you?"

Mr. Kolibri shook his head. "I don't know. And no, it's a side effect of that much power. Direct wizardry would only make it worse."

Now Tom spoke up. "Will you be okay to teleport?"

"It probably won't change the outcome." He winced. "It'll hurt, but it's better than showing up on the bus like this."

Carl nodded, then caught sight of Joshua. The younger boy was standing and looking with numb shock at his brother and his beloved dog. Neither was stirring. The sophomore nudged his partner and gestured to their friend. Tom nodded and made his way over to him, carefully draping an arm around his shoulder. All of a sudden Josh Grogan just _sagged; _he finally broke into wild tears, collapsing against Tom. "They s-saved me," he sobbed, hiccuping slightly. "Th-they saved me and I d-d-di-didn't d-do anything f-f-f-or them..."

Tom hugged his friend to him to comfort the boy. But Josh showed no sign of recovering, content to wallow in his own grief for the moment. So he shook him by the shoulders; when Josh showed no response, he said, "Josh, kiddo, listen...hey, buddy, listen to me, come on, stop crying a minute..." Joshua would have none of it. Instead he wept all the more. So, with a sigh, Tom lifted his hand and delivered him a resounding slap across the cheek.

That shut him up. The dark-haired boy looked at him in disbelief, raising his own hand to touch his stinging face. "Wh-what was that for?"

The blonde freshman raised his eyebrows and smirked. "You might want to check if they're actually, y'know, _dead_ before you get all inconsolable." A whine of agreement came from near Josh's feet.

"Tilly? Tilly—! Oh my God...! I'm so sorry, girl, I love you so much...you were so brave, I saw you, you saved my life. Are you okay? I didn't want you caught up in this, oh, I'm so so so _so_ sorry!"

_"Master needed help. Don't do that again, you bring me with you all the time, ALL the time. Chest hurts, head hurts. Master, don't be sorry, you brought me home and fed me and petted me and played with me, love you too!"_ Tilly began washing his face with her long pink tongue, snuffling and whining in his ear on occasion, making sure her Master was safe.

Josh, in turn, ruffled her ears and submitted to the doggy kisses, gently petting her to avoid hurting her more. "Don't worry, girl. You'll be going _everywhere_ with me if I can help it. You landed pretty hard, huh? I'll fix you up when I can, Tilly, but right now I'm tired. Tomorrow, okay, girl? And if I forget, you tell me, okay? You probably broke a couple of ribs there. Oh, Tilly, you're such a brave girl." He stood up with a smile. When she whined at him, he told her, "Girl, I'll pet you again really soon, but I have to see if Jake's okay. He saved me too, you know. Come on, don't look at me like that! Soon, real soon. I promise."

When Josh reached his brother, Jacob's gray eyes were already open and he was struggling to sit up. With a strangled sob the younger of the two knelt and hugged the nonwizard. Hard. "Jake. Thank you. I love you so much. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you were always there for me and trying to protect me and I never wanted you to get hurt, and I know it was all really hard on you. It wasn't your fault, none of it was _ever_ your fault, and if I'd lost you before I'd gotten to tell you that I'dve been so angry at you that I'd have dragged your ass back from heaven just so I could chuck you out the window..."

Jacob Grogan started to laugh. "Since when did my kid brother get so talkative? And curse? And Jesus, easy, not so tight, Joshling, I'm kinda sore—"

Josh swiftly loosened his grip. "Sorry. Sorry. I guess Tom and Carl've been bad influences on me."

At the mention of their names Jacob turned his head to look at the two partners. Carl met his gaze evenly and squarely. After a moment of hesitation so did Tom. Josh sighed. "C'mon, Jakey. You don't have to love them, or even like 'em. But they're my friends. They're also wizards, and they saved me by bringing you."

Jacob was still looking at them with no little distaste.

"Look, Jacob, I'm not trying to corrupt anyone," said Tom with a huff of laughter. "I don't expect you to join the rainbow dancing fairy brigade or anything. Just...please leave me alone in the hallways?"

Josh and Carl looked nonplussed. "'Rainbow dancing fairy brigade'? Really?" asked the latter in disbelief. "Gee, thanks. So that's what I've joined. Great. Now all I need are tights, a tutu, maybe a glittery pair of wings?"

Josh grinned at Jacob's horrorstruck expression, then sobered. "Jake, let go of it, it's doing nobody any good. There's not even a reason for it. I was raped by the Lone Power, not a gay man. It just likes to cause as much pain as possible. And I was particularly annoying to It."

He still didn't look convinced. Tom was relishing the thought of seeing Jacob's homophobic idiocy being put to rest, though, so he said, "Grogan, just smile and nod."

"But—"

"Smile and nod!" Josh and Tom said in unison.

Jacob Grogan grimaced and nodded.

Carl smiled. "Close enough."

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**And—wonder of wonders—_not_ a cliffhanger! Le gasp! I wasn't sure I could still do it. ;) Please let me know how you liked this chapter. If enough of you have critiques I might tweak it later on. The same things will probably happen, but I'll see if I can polish up the action and stuff. So anyway. Yeah. :D The climax is finally DONE! There will probably be only one or two more chapters in this thing. Two or three if you count the epilogue I have planned.**


	14. Chapter 14: What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note: **A thousand apologies, dear readers, for making you wait this long for an update. It's been...what, over a year since the last chapter went up? I've been very, very busy with Real Life™ and things that ate up all of my creative juices. But I did not want to abandon this fic because...well, because I hate when fics get abandoned. Also I wanted to see my ideas pan out. Also also I really really want to finish this thing, because if I do it will be the biggest project I've ever finished.

**Disclaimer: **The world and all of the recognizable things belong to Diane Duane.

Also, a **Warning:** I am not the crying type at stories. Never have been. I nearly cried while writing this. Take that as you will.

Chapter 14: What Dreams May Come

Rick was dreaming.

He knew he had to be dreaming for a couple of reasons.

For one thing, he wasn't in pain, which wasn't a feeling he was used to since last week's desperate gambit to defeat the Lone Power.

For another, everything here was perfect. Which was no surprise, really. It was, after all, Timeheart.

The sun warmed his face as a gentle breeze cavorted through his light brown hair. New shoots of grass tickled the soles of his feet. Each individual breath was invigorating and he rolled his shoulders, delighting in the complete lack of tension in his muscles. He hadn't felt this healthy, this _whole_, since he was fifteen.

"Hummingbird."

Yes, that would be why. He turned with a smile to the young woman standing near him, her sky-blue dress drifting softly in the breeze. "Dove. I've missed you so much."

Mary's own smile was tinged with sadness. "I know," she replied, moving to embrace him. "But Hummingbird...it wasn't in vain, was it?"

Rick buried his face into her raven-dark hair, taking what comfort he could from the feeling of his love holding him so close. His throat closed and his eyes burned from holding back tears. "You know it wasn't. But why did it have to be you? It's not _fair_."

Mary let out a short chuckle. "Come now, Rick. Since when has wizardry, and indeed the workings of Life itself, been 'fair'? It hurts me to see you grieve. But—" She pulled back and looked him square in the face. Rick Kolibri saw there the bold, determined expression he'd come to know so well as a young wizard and his breath caught once again. "—if we had to do it over again, I wouldn't have changed anything. I _couldn't_ have. I love you, but if I have to choose between my love for you and the service of Life, well...I really can't justify a different choice."

He nodded heavily, and by some sort of miracle he held back his tears. They'd discussed this before. Not often—he hadn't been to Timeheart that many times—but enough that the conversation didn't surprise him.

"Look," she continued. "If I hadn't done that spell, you wouldn't have known how to help Josh, Tom, and Carl. You, the four boys, and that lovely dog wouldn't have lived through it. So my life earlier for six, plus everyone in the city who would have died in the spreading fire? I think it's a worthy sacrifice to make."

Rick nodded again and tenderly brushed a strand of hair behind one delicately curved ear. "You always were the noble one, Dove."

Mary flashed an impish smile up at him. "Well, one of us had to be!"

He laughed. He couldn't help it. His partner's devious sense of humor had never failed to ease the weight on his heart. But he paused as he saw her expression turn from mischievous to thoughtful. "What is it, _palomita_?"

"It looks like you've been given a choice."

"What do you mean?"

She let out a breath. "Well. You know your physical body is...injured. Badly so."

Rick Kolibri grimaced. "Yes."

"Well, right now, it's kind of—kind of in limbo. Without your presence inside your body, it won't be able to support itself," Mary continued delicately.

His eyes widened. "I'm dying?"

"You always were fond of subtlety," she retorted with a roll of her eyes. "But not quite...I guess in a matter of speaking. As I said, you have a choice."

"One of the choices..." He was having difficulty saying the words through his disbelief. "One is to stay here in Timeheart with you? Forever?"

A serious nod was his only answer. Rick's head was spinning. It could be his reward, his payment for twenty-two heartbreaking years without his love. They had gone by slowly, so slowly without her...

He took a breath. "What do you think I should—?"

She shook her head. "This choice is yours, and yours alone, to make."

"But..."

"You have to choose. I'm not even going to give an opinion. _You_ have to choose based on what _you_ think and feel, Rick Kolibri, without any other influences."

He forced himself to give Mary a teasing smile. "Bossy as ever, I see." The girl rolled her eyes but said nothing. The man sighed and examined his choice once more. Not that he needed to. His decision was already made; it weighed heavily on his heart, but it still stood. "I can't," he whispered, tears blurring his vision as he pulled her to him again, once again breathing in the clean scent of her dark hair. "I can't stay. I'm Area Advisory. I'm the only wizarding authority that Tom and Carl know, and I can't leave them because they're young and bright and could be important...but it hurts, _palomita_."

"I know."

"I want to stay so badly. It hurts so much."

She held him soothingly, letting him cling to her for as much comfort as he needed, kissing his cheek. "I know, love." Mary pulled back just the slightest bit and gave him a dazzling smile that was as poignant as it was warm. "I'm proud of you, _colibrí_. So proud. You've been strong and so very, very brave, and I'm sorry to have missed so much of your life."

With a huge, shuddering breath, Rick Kolibri managed to stop his tears and give her a watery smile in return. "_Colibrí_. I remember when you called me that for the first time."

"Because of your fluttering fingers," Mary replied, her voice full of fond memories, lifting up one of his hands in her own and tracing each line. "Always busy, always moving. Drawing, sculpting, writing, composing, playing music. From the first time I saw you, you reminded me of the flitting _colibrí_."

"And I got so mad that you were pronouncing my last name wrong," he responded with a light chuckle.

"Until I taught you enough Spanish to know what I was really saying, and you hated that even more," Mary giggled, subjecting his other hand to the same gentle treatment as the first.

Rick smiled and sat on the grass, pulling her lightly to follow him, and let the hand that wasn't being re-memorized whisper over her brow, her nose, her ears, her jaw. Her lips. He cupped her face and ran his thumb along her cheekbone in a gentle caress. "You can't blame me that much. It was a girly nickname."

"'Was'?" Mary asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Mm-hmm. Until it stopped being girly and started simply being mine." Rick noticed a little frown on her face as she continued to trace the lines in his hand. "What's the matter?"

The frown intensified, and Mary said sorrowfully, "They're not as expressive as they used to be. They could be, but they're not. They don't have your writers' or musicians' or artists' calluses anymore. Your fingers don't trace patterns in the air like they did." A sad realization dawned. "It all reminded you of me, didn't it?"

The man hesitated, then nodded, eyes downcast.

"How...how long?"

He let out a long breath. "Twenty-one years since I last tried anything creative. And I did try, I really did, but I ended up splattering the paint on the walls because I was so frustrated with the way my hand would shake every time I tried to paint." He didn't mention that after that he had sat on the ground, shaking and rocking back and forth and hugging his knees to his chest with tears dripping down his face. Nor that his mother had found him like that and sent him to a psychiatrist. Nor still that he was so terrified of the procedure called the lobotomy (for which his psychiatrist had recommended him) that he pretended to heal emotionally at a prodigious rate, only letting himself show moments of weakness when no one else could possibly hear or see him.

Rick didn't need to mention it. Mary could see it in his eyes, could see the terror and pain of a teenager who had lost his love and his best friend, who had striven to rebuild his shattered life around him by building a careful mask and throwing his all into that mask in the hopes that maybe someday it would become the reality. Her own eyes held pain, sympathy, understanding.

She moved close to him and lay down on the cool grass, effectively hiding her face from view. He stretched out beside her, not speaking. It was her voice that abruptly broke the silence. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything," he replied immediately.

"Sing to me?"

Another moment of silence passed as a piquant smile flickered across his face. "And what song would you like me to sing?" he asked her, already knowing the answer. It was a ritual they'd gone through when she'd still been alive.

"_El Colibrí Que Cortejó a la Paloma_," she replied in a quiet voice.

"The Hummingbird That Courted the Dove? It would be my pleasure, _palomita_." He took a breath and almost tentatively began to sing the song he'd written so long ago. Rick's voice was a pleasant baritone; not the trained singing voice he'd usually used for his other songs, but his raw, natural voice with no affectations or additions. Mary rested her head against his ribcage to listen as she always had.

"Paloma  
La paloma blanca  
Vuele entre las nubes  
Cantando al cielo  
Volando sobre todo  
Contemplando..."

The haunting melody wove itself into the air around them, and Rick's eyes stung with tears. And yet he still sang through the lump in his throat, knowing that his time here with his lost love was limited, that he'd chosen to return to the living. It was slow and tender, not rushed in the least despite how short a time he knew he had. It wasn't a very long song, after all. Surely the Powers could give him enough time to finish singing it for the first time in over twenty-two years.

"Paloma  
Mi paloma  
Tus lágrimas  
Tu risa  
Tu elegancia  
Encantándome,  
El colibrí,  
Sin cesar."

He had only written the two verses. Wanting to savor the moment, the man allowed his eyes to flicker shut, allowed twin tears to trace paths down his cheeks and fall onto the grass below. But Mary had decided that the song was not complete. And so, laying pressed against his side on the perfect grass in Timeheart, she added her own quiet verse to the softening twilight:

"Mi querido colibrí  
Vuela conmigo  
Encima de las montañas  
De los ríos  
Entre las nubes  
Podemos volar  
Juntamente  
Para siempre..."

There in Timeheart, reunited with him for too brief a time, Mary sang to her lost love as he drifted off to sleep in the tender and growing night. And there, under the newly emerging, perfect stars, she fell asleep as well, knowing that when she awoke he would no longer be by her side.

**Rick Kolibri...I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.**

**I thought he deserved another bit specifically about him. Since, y'know, he kind of was awesome in the final battle. And he was kind of hurt pretty badly. I wrote the first bit three months ago and then got stuck, and I just finished it yesterday.**

**The phrase "tender and growing night" is shamelessly stolen from Walt Whitman's "Song of Myself," number 21, which I do not own either.**

**Well, as always, reviews are quite welcome! We're coming down the home stretch here, folks. This is probably getting only one or two more chapters before it reaches its logical conclusion. Thank you for your support over all this time and your faith in me that no matter how long it's been between updates, the story will be continued.**


End file.
